Picking Up The Pieces: The 81st Hunger Games
by My-Mental-Mind
Summary: "It's no longer black and white. There are many strategies...alliances and rivalries, survival and weaponry. There are so many pieces to this game that picking all of them up is impossible." The tributes will do their best not to fall apart. Who will have what it takes to win the 81st Hunger Games?
1. Mother Knows Best

**Welcome to Picking Up The Pieces! I've been waiting so long, planning and getting ready for the release of this story. Now it's finally here! I hope that you're all ready to come along for the ride. :)**

 **This story is technically a sequel to my SYOT Seeping Wounds (SW), however, this can be read on its own. I'm going to be making a few references to SW, so if you want to understand them better, then feel free to read it. If you don't, I doubt there will be much of a problem. If you have any questions, then just ask me. :D**

 **Submissions have now closed for this story.** **However, do feel free to read about the tributes anyway and tell me what you think! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created ;D**

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" **Let us be grateful to those who make us happy, they are the gardeners who make our souls blossom." ~Marcel Proust**

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 **Shea Thyle, Thirty-three, Capitol Citizen.**

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Wither like a weed, or bloom like a flower; the choice is yours.

That's what my Mother always told me when I was young. Any choice, she would say, came with a price, with consequences. Sometimes those consequences could be bad, but usually, they were good. Of course, you could never be sure if the results of your decision would turn in your favour, which is what everyone calls a risk nowadays. To me, taking risks and exploring the world is necessary to bloom as a person. You have to explore, to find new things that you enjoy and new people that you love. You have to push yourself out of your comfort zone, otherwise, you're not really living.

Exploring has always been my way in life. If there's something new I can try, then I'll try it. A lot of people tell me that I live too impulsively. I tell them that it's none of their business. If they let me get on with my life, then I'll let them get on with theirs.

That's one of the reasons why I decided to get this job. Being a chief gardener for President Snow seemed like too good of a chance to pass up, and it's one of the few jobs that I haven't actually tried yet. It's strange, being here. Everything seems to be so controlled…from the number of white roses in each flowerbed, to the time the President has his tea. Everything is perfect, not a second late or a petal out of place.

I shift a little, releasing the pressure on my knees and legs. After a few seconds, the sensation of tiny pins and needles spreads across my skin. I shift uncomfortably again. Oh how I hate pins and needles! Dusting off my hands, I stand up and admire my work, my legs still tingling. Another flowerbed filled with white roses is done. I'm standing in the centre of the Presidents garden, a circular area guarded by lush green hedges that arch over beige garden paths which worm their way around the flowers. This section is dedicated entirely to Mr Snow's roses, some of which are embedded into some of the hedges.

I've been keeping the garden in incredible shape, adding in some small sunflowers, and some ravishing tulips in the dark soil. I've been instructed to place some violets in the flowerbed at the edge of Mr Snow's garden before they're sprayed. Rumour has it that these plants are genetically modified to bloom the whole year around. My guess is that these new flowers are to replace the older ones that did not suit the President's fancy.

I flick my purple curls over one shoulder with a grubby hand. The dirt doesn't bother me, why should it? In life, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. I've manipulated more people than I can count, and I've turned out fine. Well…I don't have a husband or children, but that's my own choice. I'm not one to be tied down.

Checking my sleek silver watch, the shining hands tell me that my day has ended. It's time to pack up and go home. I snatch up my gloves and the crates the flowers arrived in, taking a slow stroll to the gardener's shed. Wrenching open the door, the hinges squeal, brand new and smelling faintly of polish. The cleaners do a good job here, that's for sure. I toss the crates carelessly onto the floor, leaving the plastic holders to clatter as I slam the door shut. I let out a contented sigh, collecting my purple coat with glass buttons on the way. I love this coat; people always tell me that it brings out my green eyes. At thirty-three, I can still work it and get a few interested glances.

People are always much more feisty and excitable at this time of year as well, especially with the Hunger Games approaching. There's a certain hype around it that never dies. People rarely take drugs here in the Capitol, partly because they're too high off the atmosphere to need them. I'm equally as excited. It's a shame that District Ten didn't do so well last year. I was really rooting for that moody looking girl until she went and got stabbed to death in the bloodbath. No matter. I moved on. See, I tend to bet on District Ten most of time, because they're my favourite District! This year though…I might root for someone else. Maybe I should go for the ones who actually have some decent strength to display…

Anyway, I must get going. Shrugging on my coat, I clog out of the garden, swapping my garden boots for my kitten heels, and my gardener's hat for my chiffon bow. The President's mansion is an immense complex, and I have been strictly forbidden to explore anywhere other than my route from the back door to the front. Quelling my inner explorer has been difficult, but I've complied to the rules.

Until now.

There's something here that grabs my attention. As I approach the corridor off from the fourth dining room, I hear the faint sound of voices. Ahead of me, I can see two figures; one obviously the President, and the other a more recent visitor. The presence of Head Gamemaker Luca Fawkes piques my interest. The only reason that Mr Fawkes would be present here, would be to introduce the basis theme of this year's arena.

I feel my heart go into double time as excitement wells up inside of me, spilling over in proverbial droplets of elation and enthusiasm. I scan the area for Peacekeepers. There are very few in Mr Snow's mansion, purely for privacy reasons. Any of the Peacekeepers here mostly patrol the house, maintaining a level of security required for the President.

 _The arena plans…_

My thoughts whisper to my desires as I bite my lip, unsure as to whether or not I should follow the two men ahead of me, or to go on my merry way.

There's a betting system in place where you can bet on both tributes and on what this year's arena will be. The arenas of each games are so anticipated that guessing it right could earn you thousands, if not millions.

I could be rich.

But should I give into my greed? I could easily get caught if I'm not careful. No! I'm better than that. I'll be fine, surely. After letting my mind wage a battle over my desires, I cave in. Unfortunately, President Snow and Luca Fawkes have departed from my general location. No matter. I should be able to find them. They can't have gone too far.

My heels click loudly on the staircase as my shoe meet the polished wood. Checking that the coast is clear, I pull them off, leaving my bare feet to meet with the gleaming steps as I pad my way upstairs. The next stage of my journey causes me the most trouble. The corridor I end up in is lined with ivory wallpaper, along with a rich chestnut handrail and a carpet reminiscent of autumn leaves. The corridor branches off to both the left and the right, of which I impulsively turn left.

Walking around the maze of rooms is irritating, and it soon becomes clear to me that I'm horribly lost. Sighing, I perch on the side of a large bed, the memory foam dipping slightly beneath me. The satin sheets rub gently against my fingers as I breathe in the faint aroma of coconut. My eyes find the source of the smell; a small burning candle, obviously used as a form of air freshener.

I'm a slave for satin and coconut.

I would have left the room, if I hadn't have heard voices.

"Do tell me Luca, how is your Mother doing?"

Fuck.

A brief spell of panic washes over me as the President's voice rings down the corridor. With a barely audible squeal, I quickly scoot over to the wardrobe in the far end of the room, getting inside and closing the door behind me. The wardrobe is pitch black and a little musty, but it's spacious. I desperately do my best not to cough as the dust tickles my throat.

"I've heard she's had quite a few problems?" Mr Snow continues.

"Pfft," an arrogant snort comes from the one and only Luca Fawkes. "She'll be fine. Nothing that a little medicine can't fix."

The two men laugh; the President's gentle chuckle mixing in with the louder chortle of the younger man. The two men's voices fade away as they move on. I wait for a minute or two before I finally decide that it's safe to go.

My heels click together in my hands, as I hurriedly jog down the hallway in pursuit of their fading voices. I feel a little sick to my stomach, probably because the adrenaline surging inside of me is too overwhelming to cope with. _Ugh, get over yourself Shea!_ I tell myself. _You're not this weak! We're doing this for a reason, think of the money!_

I focus on my desire to win this bet, and the panic slowly subsides.

I'll be fine.

I know I will.

It takes me far too long to find the room the President has retreated to, but I'm relieved when I do. I press my ear gently to the door, hoping for some kind of clue to the arena.

"Well, we were thinking of making it from stone." Luca says.

"It's definitely the best way to tackle the problem," the President replies. "I believe that it would have the desired effect."

"Excellent," Luca replies confidently. "Then that's it. That's the arena for you."

"Most impressive, Mr Fawkes," the President says silkily. "I'm thankful that you've put in a lot more effort this year compared to the last. After all, last year, I had to give you a small…incentive."

Luca clears his throat uncomfortably, but maintains his composure.

"I'm sure that you will find me focussed on my work as usual, Sir." He says.

"Good," the President replies. "We would not like you to turn out like Ms Miles, now would we?"

I frown. Debra Miles was the Head Gamemaker before Luca. The reason for her resignation was as a result of a serious disease a couple of years ago. I remember it well. Everyone in the Capitol had to take a vaccine in order to stop the outbreak of this virus. Unfortunately, several people died, including Debra Miles, and the Capitol's most loved TV host, Caesar Flickerman. It was devastating news for the entire Capitol and thousands attended their funerals.

But what does the President mean? Why would Luca end up like Debra Miles?

Luca sounds equally confused.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand," Luca says, forcing himself to be polite. "What would Debra Miles' death have to do with me? I've received the vaccine."

The President chuckles a little.

"Ah, Luca," he sighs. "Debra wasn't killed by a virus. She was killed by me."

There is a ringing silence as these words are announced. I cover my mouth in horror. Our good President…a murderer? No, it can't be! He was the one who saved us from the rebellion, who punished those who followed the Mockingjay. He was the one that returned our luxuries to us, the one who let us buy sweet smelling perfume instead of the crappy bland ones. Yet…he murdered Debra Miles? This is too hard for me to bear.

"Why?" Luca asks, his voice strained.

"Debra and her Gamemakers planned to give the Capitol several victors," The President explains. "Six, to be precise. Caesar Flickerman was reported to have been collaborating with them. I could not risk another rebellion, so I…removed them."

The President claps his hands together lightly, as if to finish the conversation. I stand there in horror at this news. There's no point in staying here. I must leave - spread the word - tell people about what really happened to Debra Miles and Caesar Flickerman. I feel empty. To me, Mr Snow was a strong leader. I've built him up high and placed him on a pedestal, and in a few words, he's smashed that vision into pieces.

I turn to leave, only for my blood to freeze in fear.

I'm staring straight into the barrel of a gun.

The Peacekeeper holding the gun grabs me roughly by the arm, his white uniform protecting him against my feeble attempts to escape his iron grip. I'm like a fly in a spider's web, desperately trying to get away from the mistake I've made.

I took a risk, but the consequences of my actions aren't good. They're very, very, bad.

The Peacekeeper opens the door without knocking, rudely shoving me to the floor. The President's eyes stare coldly at the Peacekeeper, while Luca's golden ones lock onto my own, which are filled with tears.

I'm scared. I was foolish. I was an idiot. Why didn't I just go home?

"I found her eavesdropping outside of this room." the Peacekeeper declares lowly.

The President turns to me, regarding me icily.

"Is that so?" he says, his voice rising in interest.

"N-no!" I cry, desperately trying save myself. "I didn't mean to! I got lost in this house on my way out, I swear!"

"Liar." The peacekeeper hisses, but the President silences him with a wave of his hand.

"You are my chief gardener, yes?"

I nod shakily.

"What's your name, my dear?" he asks sweetly.

"Shea Thyle," I reply, calming down a little.

"Miss Thyle," Mr Snow says. "Let me ask you something."

He pauses, possibly for effect, or for a reply from me, which I don't give.

"Flowers are delicate things, yes?"

"Yes, Sir," I reply slowly. "They must be treated carefully, and they are damaged easily if they are not properly taken care of."

"Very good, Miss Thyle," the President comments. "You seem very beautiful, almost like a flower yourself."

I don't reply, unsure of where the President is going with this.

"I wonder what would happen if that flower was actually a weed?" he says, eerily calm. "I'm sure I could always uproot it and find a new flower…?"

"Well, I-" I splutter, before answering him. "Y-yes…"

"Very good," he says. "Then you know what we do with weeds."

"No!" I cry. "Please, no! I've done nothing wrong."

"I think that I'll be the judge of that." The President answers stiffly, nodding at the Peacekeeper standing beside me. The Peacekeeper raises his gun and aims it at me.

I stiffen, fearful of death. I can't go, I can't! I still have my mark to make on the world. I can't go now.

I sob, curling into a ball. I was foolish to believe that my plan would succeed. Now I've lost everything. If only I'd exercised some self-control. Instead, my desires consumed me, drove me to do this. My curiosity got the better of me.

As the Peacekeeper pulls the trigger, my life flashes before my eyes. In my final moments, one thing comes to mind; it's an old saying my Mother once told me.

 _Curiosity killed the cat._

It also killed me.

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 **I'm really looking forward to writing this story for your enjoyment, and I can't wait to choose the twenty-four tributes to face the arena this time around! Happy submitting :D**

 **Also, if you have any general questions about me as a writer or Seeping Wounds/Picking Up The Pieces updates, along with my opinions on things and whatnot, then feel free to ask me anything via PM. :D**

 **Over and out!  
~Mental **


	2. Fatality

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all of the reviews on the last chapter, the support for this story is both colossal and amazing. I want to thank each and every one of you for reviewing, following, favouriting, and submitting to me for this installment of the Fawkes Verse.**

 **Okay, I sound a bit like a TV presenter or something, I'm sorry XD**

 **No seriously, I'm going to thank each and every one of you for reviewing: *takes a long, deep breath* Thanks to Dumbo123, Mystical Pine Forest, xQueen-Of-Applesx, Kitty, Tom, 20, Aspen, xxbookwormmockingjayxx, Jalen, Sarah, Technicolour Raincoat, Alec, EverlastingImpression, Pebble7879, Sophia, writer12122121, youngpatriot, Jms2, Foaly, TWGnome, Remus, Light Blue Light, Nate, Cloe, Metallic Shadow10, Salt the snail, Meg, and Author of Ice and Fire!**

 **Do you want to me to answer your reviews? During Seeping Wounds, I occasionally answered some reviews, and I've answered a few on Veil Of Ignorance too. I'm probably going to answer reviews once the story is up and away, but I was wondering if you thought that was a good idea. I don't want to end up pestering you!**

 **ALSO CAN I JUST SAY THIS: If you need somewhere else to submit, then I would recommend Haus Der Toten by BamItsTyler. His writing is better than mine, and he needs some submissions. He's a really cool guy, go and get to know him! Honestly, his prologue is the best I've read in a while, so if you're interested, make sure to check him out :D**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created and my long authors note.**

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" _ **Ideas pull the trigger, but instinct loads the gun." ~Don Marquis**_

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 **Luca Fawkes, Twenty-Five, Head Gamemaker**

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With a single shot, my world descends into ringing silence.

Shea Thyle's body lies motionless on the floor to my right, tear-tracks still staining her cheeks and her hair covered in blood. The bullet landed right between her eyes, a perfect shot by her trained assassin. It probably went out the back of her skull, too. Her eyes are still purple, wide, and cold, absent from the warmth that was once held there.

 _No! Please no!_

Her cries of terror ring through my head as I stare down at the woman's corpse. I'm shocked. I'm shaken. I never thought that the President was ruthless enough to kill someone so seemingly sweet, but he proved me wrong. He killed Shea as easily as he killed Debra Miles, my predecessor.

Now, I have to act like Snow's arrogant little puppet. I have to smirk and laugh at the children I kill, instead of feeling for them. I have to pretend that there's nothing in this world I care about. I have to put on my mask of arrogance and parade around, hiding my real self, and my real thoughts and feelings.

Of course, I like the Hunger Games. I've grown up with them, and I've enjoyed watching them. However, after a year of killing tributes, I've realised that I've grown a little more attached to them than I expected. The fact that their lives are in my hands, gives me a sense of responsibility. It gives me a sense of reason. It gives me an emotion.

That emotion is fear.

Last year, I didn't do so well. The President was impressed with the arena, especially with the cliff stumps piled high and shining white in the rain. He was entertained, even from the way the mud squelched underfoot and the flowers bloomed. But he didn't like the pace of the Games. A death every day obviously didn't seem like the desired kill streak. I admit, I was reluctant to kill them off. I fell in love with who they were, and how much they wanted to get back home. As a result, my family could have paid the price. Little Kile, my brother, could have been killed, and my Mother…she's worse off as it is. The President threatened me with his pictures and his Games last year. Like a snake, he'll swallow my family whole if I step out of line.

But even now I realise that I must remain neutral. I must close my blinds and lock my doors, backing into the deep recesses of my being to hide away from the world outside. I must paint my walls with the cruel fascination I should have with the Games, while I hide in the cellar, feeling waves of guilt with each death I orchestrate. A liking for the Games is still there. It always has been, and always will be. Yet, at the same time, I will feel for each child as they fall.

The President tuts and shakes his head, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Oh Miss Thyle…" he muses. "Don't take it personally. You're one of the many weeds that I must uproot."

He nods to the Peacekeeper who shot the poor girl, and the man drags the body out of the room, leaving me alone with the President.

"Will that be all?" he questions.

The president looks tired and aged. He's eighty-two now, with years of lines carved into his face. He's like a clay model, his face misshapen and skin saggy, dotted with the purpled spots of old age. I would have thought that he would be on the way out soon, but of course I forget Capitol technology. It's the reason he's aged well. It's the reason he can still walk with ease and not flinch at the sound of a gunshot. I know for a fact that he'll still be around for a few more years.

"Yes, President Snow," I say. "I have an appointment with my Mother."

"I thought you didn't care much for her, Luca?"

I force a smile.

"She begged me to," I huff. "I guess I might as well humour her, the old bitch."

The President laughs, clapping his hands.

"Your attitude is quite the thing, Mr Fawkes," He smiles. "I shall be in touch with you soon."

I flash my smirk at him.

"I'll be waiting."

I exit the room, leaving President Snow with his bloodstained carpet and his own company. As soon as the door snaps shut, my smile drops. I rub my head, trying to reach at the pain that eludes me. Damn headaches. I don't need them right now, especially when I'm sorting out arena errors. I need a big thing this year, and the President said that the arena will be perfect for hyping up the Games again, providing that my plans are successful.

As I navigate my way throughout the house, something catches my eye.

It's blood, Shea's most likely, staining the carpet from where her body was dragged away. I'm sure the President will get it replaced. Near the blood are a pile of her clothes, and her shoes, even complete with the purple coat with glass buttons. My stomach churns. The way they deal with bodies makes me want to puke.

Part of me urges me to reach out and take a glass button from the dead girl's coat. It's an odd thought, but there's this strange and overwhelming desire to remember Shea in some way, even if it is in the form of a measly glass button. I never knew the girl but the way she died was unnecessarily harsh. My eyes flick up and down the corridor, much like the tail of a cat. Nobody's here yet. All I have to do is take one.

I search for my knife. I always carry one with me, just in case anything gets ugly, but I have a habit of putting it in a different place every time, leaving me to scramble for it. After finding my knife, I reach down and slice the thread holding the button to the coat. The blade grins wickedly, and the glass button replies with a curious glow, letting small rainbows fly from the light it refracts.

With the small glass button in my hand and my knife in the other, I stand up. My eyes feel dry, probably from my golden contacts. I forgot to change them this morning. I still haven't mastered Capitol fashions, really. Sliding the knife and the button into the pocket of my blazer, I stride down the hallway.

I need to get out of here.

My shoes clunk as they hit each step, and I can feel the button and the knife rubbing against my ribs as I move. My mind is on the button, fixated on the only memory of a woman I didn't know. Her face is still there, stored away in my thoughts. I know that will never forget her. The expression of sorrow and anguish is enough to brand me for life, a mental scar and a harsh reminder of the brutality that really lies beneath the President's kind demeanour. I'm comforted by one thought.

 _At least someone will remember her._

And that someone is me.

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 **So yeah! That was a bit of a filler, and also an introduction to one of the main characters in the subplot to this series. Obviously there's more of Luca in Seeping Wounds. As for some of the mentors in this subplot, you will be seeing them at some point in this story.**

 **Keep on submitting! We have about two weeks before the deadline closes (August 31st), so anyone who hasn't submitted yet might want to send in their tribute soon. Most of you have sent me some really decent characters, so thank you for that!**

 **I do want to let you all know that I might have to move some of your tributes around by changing their District. I hope you don't mind, it's just that I want to have the best characters possible for my story, and half of them are in the same districts XD**

 **Also, if you want to submit, then give me females please! I have a good bunch of males, and about eight or nine female career submissions. So yes, females from districts Six through Twelve would be most appreciated :)**

 **I hope the summer is going well for you. I been through a rough couple of weeks, but I'm feeling a lot more happy right now. I will be gone from tomorrow to the 3rd September (check the announcements section on my profile for any current and future changes to my availability), but I do have access to Wifi, so I should be able to close submissions and start doing the third prologue and the blog as soon as the deadline arrives.**

 **And last but not least, my dearest friend Sophia (aka nevergone4ever) has her birthday today! Happy Birthday to you crazy girl, you're awesome ^.^**

 **See you in a bit!  
Over and out!  
~Mental**


	3. Dark Room

**Hi! I'm back again! Thank you all so much for this incredible support! Yes, I can already tell that you've scrolled to the bottom to see if your character was accepted or not. Nonetheless, please make sure to read this chapter, and give your thoughts on it too! I would really appreciate that :)**

 **A couple of reviewers mentioned Chekhov's gun, which I've never heard of at all! I decided to search it up, and I found the answer. To be honest, that glass button was not intended to be used as Chekhov's gun, but I'm not sure if I should use it like that now. Hmm, we'll see. It will help with what's going to happen with Luca's story. I only ever wanted this glass button to have a minor role over the whole of my verse, and it still will have that role, so watch out for that in PUTP (and what may come after!). Thanks for that :D**

 **Also, I decided to reply to everyone's reviews! I'm going to continue to do this as the story goes on. I might have a chapter or two where I get too busy, and I can't do that, but I'm going to do my best nonetheless :)**

 **Thank you to Metallic Shadow10, Annabeth-The-Tribute-That-Lived, writer12122121, xQueen-Of-Applesx, 20, Alec, MidnightRaven323, Sophia, EverlastingImpression, TWGnome, Remus 98, Sarah, Cloe, Littletimmy223, sock-feet-and-stirring-sand, Tom, and KittyMae98 for reviewing me! :D**

 **I made a tiny reference to** _ **Life Is Strange**_ **, has anyone played/watched it? ;D**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.** _ **I don't own the Life Is Strange reference either.**_

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" _ **The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." ~Robert Frost**_

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 **Ameera Fawkes, Forty-five, Capitol Citizen**

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 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

I slowly come to, thin covers rubbing gently against my legs, and my body sinking gently into the squashy mattress beneath me. My awakening is slow, like the ascension of an escalator. The sound of my breathing comes first, followed by the twitch of my hand. I open my eyes to see a blurry world, courtesy of my sleep induced haziness. It's a mesh of colours before I rub my eyes, ridding them of the sleep-dust that's nestled there. A loud flapping sound grabs my attention.

The blinds to my left are clashing together, flapping wildly in the cold draft that flies in through the open window. The icy breeze tickles my neck, and I adjust my hospital gown to escape its cool touch.

My room is dark, filled with living shadows that move like flickering flames in an eternal fire. I feel like I'm trapped in some kind of void, floating in space, never to escape from the suffocating darkness. I'm floating in drug-induced limbo, forever lost in a maze of ever-changing walls and dead ends.

All the while, in the back of my head, the beeping drones on like a man's snore.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

I'm alone. I'm lost in myself. And somehow, nobody has managed to pull me from this madness. I'm trapped, both in my head, my heart and in this room. _It would be fine_ they said _you'll get better in no time_. I would have thought that a few weeks in here would be good enough, but apparently, the doctors are still diagnosing my illness. It's been about a year since I was admitted to this ward, and I'm still here, my illness eating away at me ever so slowly.

Nobody knows what it is.

There are days when I wonder if they'll ever find out.

I feel useless, lying here. I should be back at home, tending to Kile and helping him go to school every day. I should be writing letters to Luca and asking him is he's alright. But still, the doctors see it fit to confine me to this box, this _cell_ of a room, where I must lay here for hours on end. I hate how I'm too weak to walk. I hate how I'm not independent anymore. I hate not being able to do my own thing. At this time of day, I would be cooking dinner, watching the spiralling tendrils of steam rise slowly from the saucepan. I would be lounging on our sofa, settling down to late night television with a cup of iced tea in my hand and a remote in the other. I would be kissing Kile goodnight, tucking him underneath his thick duvet…

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

My children…so young, yet so smart and accomplished. Kile just came the top of his year in all of his subjects, and Luca is a Head Gamemaker at only twenty-five. Any Mother would be proud, and I am no exception. But I'm a different Mother. I'm not like the others, who strive for their children to be the best by forcing them to do things. All I ever want from my children is their love, and their hard work. All I've ever told them is to be proud of who they are, and to stand up for what they believe in. And be honest. Who gives a damn, as long as you're honest? Half the Capitol are complete liars, giggling about fashion and gossiping over which victor could secretly be sleeping with who, when really, none of it is true. It's just consumerism here. We're all fake, hiding behind our masks of make-up and whatnot, screeching about the new nails we got last week, or _amazing_ haircut that the hairdressers have given us.

We're a shallow race, thirsty for the blood on screen, and hungry for stupid gossip. And I'm a part of that. Yes, I gossip. Yes, I indulge in fashion. Yes, I love the Hunger Games. But sometimes I can't help but feel as if I look like a complete airhead. I probably do.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Through all of the blood tests and scans, the only thing my mind can focus on is Luca. He's come so far is so little time, but I worry if he's taking care of himself. When working around the President, you can't mess up. I've warned him several times about his arrogant mask. Luca's a clever lad, but he plays dangerous games. He may have won the first one by winning the President over, but the next game he plays is even harder than the one before. I've barely seen him since he started his job, but his letters have told me enough.

My life is on the line.

So is Kile's.

If he makes one wrong move, then we're both dead.

It shocked me that the President could be so harsh, but I have been sworn into secrecy, and I've not said a word of it to another soul. Luca is worried for us, but there's not much he can do about it. He must work hard, otherwise, he will be punished. We will be punished.

Ever since my husband walked out on us, Luca has worked like a dog to keep us afloat. Now he's Head Gamemaker, his salary is large enough to support our family, with excess. It's a dangerous job, but it pays off. I just hope he keeps himself safe…I'm getting older with every passing day, and he needs to be there for Kile in case I die. I'm not in good condition, and I feel that my time is limited. It's a good thing that Luca has his life plans sorted out. It's unfair how our family can never be a normal one, but I suppose that the income is needed. I would happily make the sacrifice of my safety for the reassurance that Kile and Luca have enough money to support themselves.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

I hear a small squeak and a soft creak, as someone turns the handle and opens the door to my room. Soft, cautious footsteps approach my bedside. I turn my head.

It's Luca.

"Hey, honey." I breathe, reaching for his hand.

He grabs my hand and squeezes it gently.

"How was it today?" he asks, his voice wrapped in his worry.

"They only did a scan and two tests today…" I mutter.

Luca smiles warmly.

"That's good news," he says. "They must be close to diagnosing your illness."

I hum in agreement, still a little drowsy.

"I brought someone with me," Luca says, his golden eyes mirroring the smile on his face. "He's very excited to see you."

Luca gestures to the window.

The door opens again, and loud footsteps slap against the marble floor.

"Uh-oh," I chuckle. "Who's this?"

"Mom!" Kile laughs as he comes into view, his green eyes bright and his blond hair a little ruffled by the cold draft.

"Hey, darling, how was school today?" I ask.

He sits on my bed with me, playing with my blonde curls. They used to be golden, but the dye has long faded, leaving long, limp waves tossed carelessly over my shoulder. I used to be radiant, complete with manicures and pedicures, but now I'm a mere shadow, left to hide away in this room.

"It was boringgg!" Kile announces, drawing out the end of his word to emphasise the _hell_ that is school. I smile at that, pulling him and Luca in for a hug.

"I love you…" I whisper, grateful for their mere presence.

The fact that they visit me speaks volumes. They love me, and I love them. And they know that.

"We love you too, Mom," Luca reassures me. "We always will. Maybe when you get better, Kile will bring his girlfriend around for some tea."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Kile announces, blushing heavily. "W-we're just friends, okay?"

I giggle as Luca answers him.

"Yeah?" Luca questions playfully "I bet you held her hand!"

"H-hey! Not true!"

"I bet it is!"

"It's not!"

"Mhm, yeah, right."

I zone out of their playful arguing, a smile on my face and the cool wind in my hair. Even when times are bad, these two are still there to pull me through. I may be trapped in this void of darkness, but they are the ones who light the way.

Even in this dark room, they will save me from my nightmares.

And for that, I will be forever grateful.

With those final thoughts, I fall asleep once more, comforted by my children's presence, and the sound of the machines next to me.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep..._

* * *

 **Can I just say that all of the submissions I received were easily the best bunch of submissions I've ever had. I loved every single one of them. It's taken me about a week to find my tributes, where I've sat down and viciously combed my way through every submission. It took me so long to choose your tributes, because I loved all of them so much! I just want to thank you guys for so many amazing submissions, because it gave me a challenge, and it was really good to see how much effort some of you put into your forms. *hugs* :)**

 **I've moved some tributes into different Districts, so make sure to look through all of the names to check if yours is there. I changed one or two ages as well; I needed a little bit more diversity, so sorry about that!**

 **First of all, well done to those who got in! Your characters are the ones that I thought would make the biggest and most interesting impact for the story, so welcome to PUTP! Woooo! XD**

 **For those who weren't accepted, I'm really sorry. I loved all the tributes, but there's only room for twenty-four. You can always try next time, never give up! Plus, now you have a tribute to submit somewhere else. If you want to hang around and read/review/follow, that's great! If not, I will wish you the best of luck, and I hope to see you again in the future :D**

 **Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the tributes of Picking Up The Pieces! (Please read the chapter after this, I'd really appreciate it!)**

 **District One:**

 **Female: Adira Linett (18)**

 **Male: Austin Ogara (18)**

 **District Two:**

 **Female: Vanity Genot (17)**

 **Male: Landon Caruso (18)**

 **District Three:**

 **Female: Naydene Carmello (16)**

 **Male: Parker Lidell (17)**

 **District Four:**

 **Female: Aisha Cain (18)**

 **Male: Orion Trent (18)**

 **District Five:**

 **Female: Isabella "Izzy" Moire (16)**

 **Male: Shion Qing (17)**

 **District Six:**

 **Female: Leigha Tullson (18)**

 **Male: Geoni Proctor (13)**

 **District Seven:**

 **Female: Nova Lupin (16)**

 **Male: Ashton Metz (16)**

 **District Eight:**

 **Female: Cassia Foster (15)**

 **Male: Shura Blackburn (16)**

 **District Nine:**

 **Female: Aline Liu (12)**

 **Male: Barric Roland (16)**

 **District Ten:**

 **Female: Lenore Van Duren (15)**

 **Male: Dathan Corvair (17)**

 **District Eleven:**

 **Female: Morgana Murray (15)**

 **Male: Cleveland "Cleve" Garfield (13)**

 **District Twelve:**

 **Female: Filla Amirylis (15)**

 **Male: Lewis Coltsfoot (15)**

 **A message to those who were accepted: I do expect you to try and do your best to follow this story. Obviously life gets in the way, but it is polite to keep tabs on it, even after your tribute has died. I would love it if you reviewed every chapter but I understand that there are times where you might not be able to do that. Even a one line review is okay if you're in a hurry (but do try to be more descriptive)! I would be grateful if you also followed me and/or the story (Oh gosh, I'm sorry for this self-promotion O.o) for any future updates. I wish I could give each and every one of you a hug for giving me wonderful tributes *more hugs***

 **Blog link (also on my profile,** **take out the spaces** **):** _ **picking up the pieces 81 hg . blogspot . com**_

 **Only the strengths, weaknesses, and weapon of choice are up. As for scores, predictions and all the rest, that will come later. I'll alert you of that when it comes around. :D**

 _ **Ew, blog reviews.**_ **If you really can't deal with one right now, then I *guess* you can get away with a chart on who you love, like and dislike. I would prefer a full blog review, but if there's no time, then just drop me a chart! Feel free to be honest and critical of the tributes, but don't get trashy. That would be great! Thanks again :D**

 **Oh, and I suppose that I should give a shout-out to Jalen Kun, who's just started his SYOT "Eternal Youth". There are so many new SYOT's coming out, it's crazy! Check his stuff out if you want :D**

 **More coming soon!**

 **Over and out!  
~Mental **


	4. One Day More

**Busy, busy, busy! A few of you asked me why I was unable to update. Well, I've been really preoccupied with medical appointments, my recent assignments for my article, and with uni life. When I started this chapter, I never actually managed to finish it. Sorry about that. Let's hope I can try to update a little more regularly for you all. I'm hoping fortnightly (every two weeks)? Remember, I have Seeping Wounds to finish, as well as uni work! Second year isn't easy! :D**

 **Thanks to Sophia, cloudy5, Tom, Cloe, Sarah, writer12122121, KittyMae98, Jake, Jms2, AnnabethTheTributeThatLived, xxbookwormmockingjayxx, Remus98, 20, MidnightRaven323, Littletimmy223, JGrayzz, Metallic Shadow10, Alec, and the Guests for your reviews! You're all incredible people, and thanks for all of the kind comments! I'm really sorry if I missed one or two replies, I'll make sure to cover all of my reviews this chapter.**

 **Also, I just want to thank you all for all the favourites and follows too! It shows that you're really invested in the story (which makes meh happeh :D). Obviously, faves and follows doesn't mean people aren't interested but yeah…take my compliments and thankfulness and all of that stuff ;)**

 **WARNING: Expect some triggering stuff as the story goes on. This includes child abuse, insensitivity to death, anti-religious ideas and child molestation, among other themes. I'll try to remain vague, but I do tend to get involved with some of my characters a bit, so I apologise if it gets too much! I honestly don't want anyone to get offended, so do remember that this is a** **fictional story** **and that no offence is intended; I'm just doing my best to make the characters as realistic as possible.**

 **Sorry for all the mistakes! I'm editing this at nearly 3am, but I couldn't leave you guys any longer!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena I've created.**

* * *

" _ **Another day, another destiny." ~Alain Boublil**_

* * *

 **Austin Ogara, Eighteen, District One Male**

* * *

The front door of my house slams shut behind me, the door rattling slightly in its frame. From inside, I can hear the muffled slurs of my father, yelling at me as usual. I don't let him get to me anymore.

I'm something that he can no longer touch.

 _Get to fuck, you dirty little shit!_

My father's voice echoes in my ears, and I rub my temples, desperately trying to evade the words that continue to haunt me. He's always treated me like this, ever since Mom died. She was lost in childbirth, the light in her eyes fading like stars in the morning sky. And I was born, but I was left with nothing but an angry Father. As a young child, there wasn't much I could do to stop him from hitting me and yelling in my face.

 _Hurry up, you lazy fucker! Now, or I'll kick your ass into next week!_

I roll my shoulders involuntarily, an uncomfortable feeling weighing down on my neck. The soft fabric of my shirt rubs gently against the scarred skin underneath, forever marked with the imprint of a hot pan. I remember that night. Dad had gone so far as to hit me with the saucepan, the hot metal burning my skin, and branding me forever.

 _D-dad, n-no, stop! OW, Dad that hurts, please! Stop! STOOOOOP!_

I wince at the memories that whisper in my ears. They're always there, like the burn on my back, and they will never go away. I can't erase them like one would a drawing; instead I have to hoard them and take them with me wherever I go. Whenever I see a child in pain, I feel it too, for their pain is reflected in my own heart. They're defenceless, afraid, and vulnerable. I was once the same thing.

In many ways I still am.

I try and focus on something else, something to get my troubled thoughts out of my head. Of course, my go to thought is tomorrow. My last reaping. I'm going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I doubt it came as much of a shock to anyone really. I've trained hard and I've worked hard to get here. And I had to get here. I had to. I must escape my Father's house, and become the free man I've dreamed of for so long.

But there are more reasons to this than my Father, some that even I hate to acknowledge. Part of it is the feeling of pride, of happiness…of victory. That feeling…I can't imagine it to be any sweeter than what it will be when I stand alone, the victor of the Eighty-first Hunger Games. This year is my year. However, as much as I'm confident, I'm also afraid. If I'm not careful, any of the careers could stab me in the back. I won't be surprised if they try to. I'm a threat to them. But they're also a threat to me. This game isn't supposed to give you any friends. This is a game where you fight, and you die.

And I don't want to die.

Which is why I'm going to try and win.

"Morning, Austin!"

My icy blue gaze darts up to see my best friend, Colette.

"Hey," I say tunelessly. "You ready for today?"

"Only if you are," she replies with a small frown. "It sounds like your Dad's got you down again. Is everything okay?"

I check the surrounding area for any eavesdroppers. I've never really told anyone about Dad, except for Colette, of course. I don't really want anyone to find out. They'd doubt my skills, and who knows what would happen to my chances of volunteering? Colette has sworn to secrecy, but I can't help but worry if anyone will overhear us.

"Just the usual," I reply smoothly. "I'm fine."

"It doesn't look like it to me," Colette answers, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "You know I'm here if you need anything, right?"

She hugs me, and after a moment, I return her embrace. She senses the pain I feel inside of me. I know she understands, and to me, her understanding is an anchor to stop me from going insane. She cares about my wellbeing, and it warms my heart to know that she feels this way. In many ways, she's my rock, and I know she'll stand by me for as long as she can to get me through this.

"Thanks," I reply, grateful. "I know, and you've done a lot for me already, just by being here."

"Aw, who knew that you of all people could get soppy?" Colette laughs ruffling my brown curls.

"I'm not soppy." I pout.

"Aw, don't cry!" she teases.

"I'm not crying." I snap defensively.

"Hey, hey, it was just a joke," Colette sighs, nudging me. "C'mon, let's get a move on. You've still got a day's training ahead of you before you go to the Capitol. I wanna piss you off as much as I can before you leave."

"Shut up!" I reply, but Colette only laughs, dodging my friendly punch and sticking her tongue out at me. Fighting a smile, I follow her into the academy. You can't stay unhappy for long around Colette.

Colette practically bounds over to grab a weapon, and I'm left to follow her slowly, my arms crossed against my chest, and my eyes staring forward. I see several of my classmates turn to look at me, some in awe, jealousy, and even a few with lust. I'm wasn't planning on impressing anyone, but their attention fills me with a strange feeling of appreciation. It's a nice feeling, one that I'd love to get used to.

"Hey, you."

A girl stands in front of me, blonde curls framing her face and voluptuous body, with dark blue eyes that shimmer like diamonds. She's fucking hot.

"Why, hello there," I reply with a sultry grin. "How are you doing, beautiful?"

"Not bad," she sighs. "But I was hoping you could help me with some sword practice."

"Well, maybe I'll teach you a bit more when you're not in that suit of yours, eh?" I smirk.

"Ooh, I like you," she winks. "I know how to hold a man's sword pretty nicely. Give me a heads up when you'll be around?"

"We'll get to my head later." I wink. "I'll be knocking."

She answers me with a small giggle before walking off, her perfect hips sashaying side to side as she regroups with her friends. I smile to myself. There's my hook up for the night. I try and stop myself from drooling. There are so many sexy chicks around here that even I haven't slept with all of them.

I return to Colette's side.

"Another date tonight?" she remarks, seemingly innocent.

Colette knows about my night life as well. Yes, even those one night stands. What can I say? I'm a handsome man. I have to do more with my time than stay and deal with my Dad. It's just another way of getting out of there, even if it is for a few hours at most.

"You bet," I wink. "She'll be my last one for a while."

"Austin?" Colette asks, sounding worried.

"Yeah?"

"Promise you'll come back. Promise me."

Her request is very sudden, as if she needed to throw it at me before she forgot. Her concern touches my heart…she's always cared and fussed over me. I know that if it's anyone I must come back to, then it's her.

"Of course," I reply, nodding. "I'll come back, and we can live our lives as normal."

My memories jump back two years as Royce Fendi, District One's youngest mentor, was crowned the victor of the Seventy-Ninth Hunger Games. I could be like him. I could win and come back home, forever praised as a hero. I could escape my Father forever, with Colette by my side and endless days of calamity stretching ahead of me.

There's something within me that reminds me that this is the easiest leg of my journey. Everything I've experienced…nothing will come close to what I might be facing in the next couple of weeks. I must be careful. I must be watchful. I must make no errors.

I can't afford to lose.

* * *

 **Parker Lidell, Seventeen, District Three Male**

* * *

Eight.

Eight, eight, eight.

Eight percent.

Of course! That makes a lot more sense.

I stare down at the calculator in front of me, paper scrunched up in my fist, and a blunt pencil in my hand. I've finally found the marginal possibility for technological hazards within our workplace here at the factory. As the manager of this place, I have to make sure that all possibilities are explored and covered, and that includes health and safety. In District Three, there's no room for error, otherwise someone's going to get hurt; especially when you're working twelve hour shifts in a stuffy factory.

My hand trembles slightly as I stencil a figure of eight in my handbook. I've managed to figure out that the factory's danger to its workforce has decreased by eight percent from last month. I have a feeling it's because we've managed to invest in some new technology to make this place run a little smoothly. I mean sure, a few people lost their jobs, but that was a necessary loss for my Father. All he cares about is doing what's needed, for both his God and his family.

I used to care.

I used to be the same as Mom and Dad, worshipping God to my heart's content. Dad always told me that I was the Lord's gift; that my mind could get me far in life if I studied and prayed to him. So that's exactly what I did. I studied, and then I prayed, every day for years and years on end. What my parents don't know, is that I've deviated from that path. What kind of a life am I living if it's spent in a factory like this, studying and praying and doing nothing else in my life? What kind of life is this if my freedom is restricted by my Father's wishes? It's not freedom at all. It's slavery.

And I'm their slave.

Setting down my papers, I gaze out of the window, bored. This is something I usually find myself doing these days. There's only so much a manager can do, and with nothing to do at the moment, I'm trapped in the realm of my own boredom. The windows are large, but they're incredibly dusty, leaving the sunlight to paint the room in an orange hue, setting it on fire. Filing cabinets are stacked side by side against the wall, with a large observatory peering over the edge of a balcony to the workers below. The room I'm in is silent, except for the buzzing of a small fly.

I check my watch and smile to myself. Of course, a lunch break is in order. I press the button for the lunch time bell, almost hearing the workers below me sigh in relief. Half of their day is over, but they still have so long until they head back home. I snatch a walkie talkie from the corner of my large desk (which is drowned in pieces of paper and various broken pencils), muttering at my Vice manager to keep things in order while I'm gone for the lunch hour.

Three flights of stairs, six doors, and a few minutes later, I find myself outside, feeling the cool wind upon my face. It gets so stuffy in the factory that there are days that I can barely stand it. It takes every cell in my body for me to stop myself from running away, from getting out of here. Letting out a small sigh, I loosen my tie and shrug off my blazer. My brown eyes search the street.

With a single exhale, and the smell of cigarette smoke, I find what I'm looking for. My friend, Dominic, casually leans against the side of an alleyway, blowing neat smoke rings before lazily breaking them with his finger.

"Hey, Dom!" I cheer, striding up to him, my shirt hanging off my thin frame. If I wasn't dressed so smartly, I could have been mistaken for a homeless boy in the slums.

"What's up, Parker?" my tall friend asks, handing me cigarette and lighting it for me.

I hum in approval as the smoke burns my lungs. If my parents knew what I was doing right now…they'd shout at me, condemn me to hell. To them, living by the word of the Lord is something so sacred that nobody should disobey it, lest they feel God's wrath upon them. But I haven't got time for that. All I've ever done is live by God's word, and what has that ever done for me? It cost me friends, happy memories…it cost me my childhood. Fuck religion. I've been cooped up in a room for most of my life writing down numbers. In many respects, I'm still stuck there, being shaped into who my Father wants me to be.

I hate it. I fucking hate it. And so, about a year ago, I began to sin. I smoke now. I drink now. I disobey God's word. And for once, I feel good. It's good to feel that spark of adventure in my life, something that I've missed for so long and experienced so little of. It's good to be a little rebellious from time to time.

"Guess what!" I say. "Today I calculated the marginal possibility of technological hazards in the factory, and I found that it had decreased by exactly eight percent! That's great news."

My speech is a mish-mash of words, each one piled up next to the other and pronounced swiftly. Dominic is unfazed by this. He's so used to my rapid speech that he can catch on to anything I say nowadays.

"Indeed, it is." Dominic answers, pushing a hand through his shaggy dark hair.

I lift a hand to my own head to feel the copper strands there, slicked back and greasy from filthiness and bathless nights. I stare down at the cigarette between my fingers.

"You know, it's weird…" I say, smirking at the floor. "How something so small can have such a big consequence, y'know? Like this cigarette here…it's made out of what, paper, some tobacco, a filter and that's just about it. I wonder how this is made. Cigarettes are pretty expensive right? I mean, would you say tobacco was grown or manufactured? That must have cost a decent amount to make. Unless of course, they have a factory, in which it would reduce the making of each and every cigarette quite considerably. If you take a packet of twenty cigarettes and smoke them, some people are saying that it's really bad for you, and it's damaging for all of your alveoli and your bronchi. We all know that's true, because it tar forms in the lungs, liver, and various other organs, causing massive health deficits, yet they make something like this so expensive…"

"Well, why are you smoking cigarettes then?" Dominic questions.

I bring the cigarette up to my lips, taking a long drag and thinking deeply. I shrug.

"Why not, right?" I smirk.

 _Why not sin some more? This is the only freedom I have anyway._

"Why not." He echoes, smoke billowing out of his mouth in grey spirals.

For a few seconds, silence falls between us, as quiet and deadly as the smoke in my lungs.

"You don't seem worried about tomorrow." Dominic comments, raising his eyebrow in slight amusement. He's always found me hilarious, although I've never asked him why. I doubt he cares most of the time. I mean, this friendship started simply because I'd bumped into him on the street and asked for a cigarette. He'd laughed me, back then. But he didn't realise how serious I was. He didn't understand how bad the urge was to sin.

I shrug.

"Any combined possibility from the slips of paper with my name on them would be hypothetically low in terms of actually getting reaped for the Hunger Games. Even if I was reaped, then I'd be happier. Either way, I win."

Dominic chokes on his smoke and coughs violently.

"You don't care about dying?" he splutters.

"I do, in some respects." I say. "I mean, getting sacrificed to a Martian is why the Hunger Games happens right? So either way, I'll be doing a lot of other people a massive favour. Someone could save someone else's life, just because I was reaped to go into the Hunger Games instead of them. Butterfly effect, right?"

"Right." Dominic sighs, shaking his head slightly.

I don't push him any further. He knows that I have controversial beliefs in the Hunger Games. I mean, people just choose to be ignorant about the Martian above us, who we surrender twenty-four children to. But at the same time, I do understand that he doesn't care, and I respect that. I'm jealous of him, really.

To my parents, I'm a wonder child, a genius, a human computer of sorts. But to the world, I'm a sacrifice, an offering, a tribute. I don't want to be reaped, but I don't think I'd care too much about it. It won't happen, and if it does, I'll probably laugh at the irony of it all. They'd be giving me more freedom than I have already.

Freedom that I will gladly accept.

* * *

 **Nova Lupin, Sixteen, District Seven Female**

* * *

I wrench my axe from the side of a tree, licking my chapped lips and blowing a blonde strand of hair out of my eye. The sharp weapon in my hands leaves yellowish splinters on the floor, still damp from tree sap. Chopping the small tree down, I take a breather.

I'm in my Dad's small lumber yard, where we occasionally chop down trees to sell in town. It's a small plot of land, covered in small green trees that are vibrant and full of life. Underfoot, it's less appealing, with each footfall sending up small clouds of brown dust from the dry cracked earth. Like the wrinkled face of an old woman, the floor itself seems to have been sucked dry by the burning embrace of the sun, taking all the water it possibly can before running away with it.

But even now, I can see a storm brewing, dark clouds in both the sky and my heart. My mind is conflicted, confused even, and I feel like I want to scream, to yell so loud that I'd rip my own vocal cords. As horrific as it sounds, I still wouldn't care. I try not to. There's nothing in the world that can undo the past, and I'm an emotional wreck because of it.

I suck in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Calming the rising sea of panic in my chest is no easy feat, but I've done it a hundred times before. I shrug off the ache in my shoulder. I've been swinging this axe for far too long. Impaling the axe into a tree trunk and leaving it there, I take off my Dad's protective gloves and goggles, and dump them on the ground, and make my way over to the back door of our house.

The back door leads straight into the kitchen, where I can see my Mother stirring some stew in a pot. Steam rises calmly from the stew as she adds more and more ingredients. I shake my head slightly, allowing the corners of my lips to twist a little. Trust Mom to make too much stew as usual. I silently pass her without a word, walking down the hall towards the stairs. I'm about to make my escape when I hear voices approaching from outside. Slowly and quietly, I creak open the front door of our house, only to see Dad and Lucille, my best friend, talking.

Dad's sweaty as usual, a light sheen that covers his tan complexion and his defined muscles. Brown hair peppered with white, he's getting old now, but that doesn't stop him from working hard every day to bring in some money for the family. He sees me at the front door, and flashes me a smile, to which I reply with a cold glare.

I hate him.

It was his mistake that left me with these emotional scars, and I hate him for it. He's a careless man, and he doesn't understand how much he's hurt me. I don't think he ever will.

"Hi, Nova," he says warmly. "How are you?"

Every day, he asks me the same question, as if he thinks he can get through to me or something. But he's only trying to cover up the sheer guilt that he must feel. I revel in his guilt. He deserves that burden on his shoulders.

"Hi." I spit stiffly.

And that's the most he ever gets out of me. A hiss, an icy sound that feels nothing yet shouts _help_. But he doesn't pick up on that. He just goes on his way, heading towards the kitchen to find Mom.

Lucille follows my Dad through the front door, and closes it respectfully behind her.

"Hey, Nova!" she smiles.

At the sound of her voice, my shoulders relax and I feel lighter and less uptight. Lucille's the only one I'm at ease around.

"Lucille…" I answer, and I pull her into my embrace, hugging her tightly as I do every day.

Normally, I wouldn't let anyone touch me; not even for a hug, but Lucille is the exception. Because that's exactly what happened to me all those years ago. Dad went into a shop to buy something, and young innocent me walked over to the sweet shop. I was suddenly pulled into an alley, into the darkness of the shadows and touched. Rough, calloused hands ran up and down my skin, explored every inch of me. I was eleven. When they found me, it was too late. My spirit had already been broken. Despite being two years older than me, Lucille never gave up, not even after the incident. I used to be a carefree child, but after I shut myself away, she was the only one who came to me every single day, to make sure I was alright. Even when I pushed her away, she kept on bouncing back.

"You never miss a day, do you? You might as well live here!"

A casual, joking tone emanates from the stairs, and I turn my icy gaze on my older brother Nero. We're not close (I'm not close to many people), but I respect him. He's always trying to be there for me, and I guess you could call him a protective brother. That, and he just so happens to have this massive crush on Lucille. I bet all of the girls in District Seven would hate to hear that. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin…my brother is someone the girls drawl over. It's almost sweet that he only has eyes for Lucille. He's made me swear to remain silent…for now.

"Nero," Lucille announces, mock scolding him. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," I remark. "I bet he's late, _as usual_."

At these words, Nero's eyes widen as he splutters and retreats upstairs to his room, obviously having remembered somewhere he needed to be. Lucille laughs, and I allow myself a small smile. Leading Lucille upstairs, we enter my room and sit down on my bed.

"So, how was today?" Lucille asks, twirling a strand of brown hair around her finger, before getting to work on messing around with mine.

"It's been fine," I shrug. "I chopped down a couple of trees, and I've prepared myself for the reapings tomorrow."

"Ew," Lucille comments wrinkling her nose. "I'm not looking forward to those."

"But…it's your last reaping, Luce," I explain. "If anything, you should be happy."

"It doesn't make me feel any better about it, Nova," Lucille sighs, braiding my hair now. "I have a higher chance of being reaped than I ever have before. All these years of escaping that reaping bowl will be pointless if I get reaped tomorrow."

"Well, if the impossible happens, then make sure to kick someone's ass for me." I smirk.

Lucille chuckles.

"You can bet on that, Nova," she promises me. "You can bet on that."

A genuine smile breaks out on my face as I stare outside the window, far away into the pine forest. In the distance, trees fall down one by one. In a way, they're tributes in their own right, fighting to survive. None of them can escape the woodcutter's axe.

And if I'm reaped tomorrow?

They won't escape me.

* * *

 **Lenore Van Duren, Fifteen, District Ten Female**

* * *

Nobody can escape death.

It comes for you in the end, as it does to everyone. It's the one thing that we can't hide from, and the one thing that many fear. But it doesn't scare me. There aren't many things that do.

The water splashes onto the petals of the flowerbeds in the graveyard. I'm always finding myself tending to the flowers here when I need some time to think. It's therapeutic in some ways, but it does need to be done. Someone has to do it, and that someone is me.

Looking past several rows of aged, chipped gravestones, I see someone standing at a grave with their head bowed. It's one of our newest graves this month, and it's hit the family quite hard. I would walk over to console the person mourning, but when the pain of loss is still as raw as this, it's best to leave someone to their own thoughts.

Not only that, but people tend to be quiet wary of me. Being the Undertakers daughter leaves me with a certain reputation, not to mention the fact that I'm shrouded in mystery. People know who I am; they're just a little too creeped out to come over and strike up a conversation with me. That doesn't mean I don't have friends, it's just that it's harder to make them. People look at you and see the death of their loved one. In a way, you're sort of tied to them, so staying away is often seen as the best option to take, especially when mourning.

There are citizens in this District that are far more open, however. These are the kinds of people that frequent our graveyard often. There are some visitors that come several times a week, and many times I've talked with them, offering a few words of condolence. By having the confidence to make connections, I've gained a few friends as a result of it.

I finish off watering the flowers, and work on removing the dead ones from the various graves. There's a lot of graves, but there are less than you'd expect in District Ten. Many live in poverty here, but somehow, their families stay afloat, just so much that few of them starve to death. Surprisingly, one of the largest killers in the District is blunt force trauma, alongside disease, violence and disobeying Peacekeepers. As a District that watches over livestock, there are a lot of cases where people, most commonly children and teenagers, are killed when handling cows and horses. I've heard the animals here are quite restless. We've had four deaths from livestock in the past month, which might not sound like a lot, but it's more than you'd expect.

I finish my graveyard duties, and I retreat back inside of our house. The District's graveyard is pretty much our back garden, a constant reminder of what my family is, and what we'll forever be. When Dad dies, I'll become the District's undertaker, and my children will have the same role as me when they grow up.

"Dad?" I call, shutting the door behind me.

"Down here!"

A muffled voice yells from the basement.

The basement is where my Dad spends a lot of his time. As well as taking the bodies, he also embalms them before the funeral. I often help him out these days, but I remember that when I was younger he used to try and hide death from me, especially when someone had been murdered or shot in the head. He used to use silver bells to distract me, all tied together on a piece of string. Dad says it's to ward off the evil spirits, and as much as I'm sceptical, I don't question him.

I shuffle down the cold stone steps that spiral down to the cool basement, where the smell of death and sweet smells meets my senses. I'm used to the smell of rotting flesh that I don't even wrinkle my nose at the smell anymore. My Dad is rubbing some kind of incense into the skin of the dead person on the table, who appears to be a young woman. I remember her; she was shot in the head by a Peacekeeper for stealing three chickens to feed her family. As much as it's morbid, I'm expecting her children to end up on our table in the next few weeks. It's a saddening thought, but that's life for you. It's not fair to anyone.

"Hey Dad," I say, walking over to the dead body, moving some delicately balanced glass bottles out of the way. We don't want to be dropping our embalming fluids over the floor; that stuff is expensive, and we only get a limited supply from the Mayor every month.

"Hey Lenore," My Dad smiles. "Is everything done in the graveyard?"

"Yeah," I reply. "It's all sorted. I'm guessing you need some help with this one?"

"I'd appreciate it," Dad nods. "I mean, your Mother can't just climb out of her grave and help us, can she?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sigh, a small smile on my lips. "She said she was popping round for tea."

"She'll be hungry I guess, not eating for fourteen years." Dad answers.

"I expect she'd be all skin and bone now." I comment.

"Well, maybe just bone." Dad chuckles, and I chortle along with him.

We've always shared a sense of dark humour, Dad and I. Mom died when I was a child. She received a disease from one of her patients and died shortly after she gave birth to me. She used to be a healer of sorts, but her presence was soon snuffed out when death came for her. It might seem harsh to others that Dad and I laugh about her death together, but I'm around death so much that the idea of grief is something I can't comprehend. I still miss my Mom in some ways, and it would be nice to have her around, but she's dead. She's dead and buried six feet under, and there's not much I can do about it.

I've gotten over it.

I've moved on.

"Dad, how much alcohol did you add to the solution?" I question. "What's the concentration?"

"It's about twelve percent," Dad says. "It's a little weaker than usual, but I'm being frugal before our supply comes in next week."

"I think we might be a bit low on formaldehyde too, so we'll have to be careful about that." I muse calmly.

"I'll make sure to keep an eye on it." He acknowledges.

I move over to the table, where the smell of myrrh is strong and pungent. The woman on the table looks to be about thirty, with a gunshot wound straight between the eyes. Her skull has probably sustained multiple fractures from the bullet, but nobody will see that. We're embalming her for the children's sake. Dad and I might not be affected by death, but those children are probably devastated that their Mother is dead.

It seems that the embalming process is almost over. It's a process that can take hours, and even days for some patients. We're just sorting out the surface of the woman's corpse and preserving her skin, so it doesn't rot before the funeral.

"I'm heading out to meet up with my friends," I inform my Dad. "I'll be gone for a few hours if that's okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Dad says. "But wait! I'll be working all day tomorrow on another patient, so I won't be able to go to the reapings with you."

"Oh…that's okay Dad, I understand." I nod.

"Remember to take one of those bells, tomorrow." he reminds me, nodding towards his silver bells hanging from the shelf.

I smile at that. Every year, I take one of those bells with me to the reapings. It's my token in case I ever get reaped.

"I will!" I assure him, and I take my leave.

The walk out of my house and down the street is a short one. I live on the edge of town, so meeting up with the others in the fields doesn't take me long. I've weave my way past barns and farmhouses, through ranches and paddocks, and by tool-sheds and various townspeople, most of whom shrink away from me.

Finally, I arrive in a field, where my friends are grouped next to a large oak tree.

"Hiya Mac!" Theodore crows, his tanned smile beaming at me.

"Miss Mary Mac," Abigail states, her red hair bright and fiery against the blue sky. "You're here!"

"What's up, Mac?" Emmet smiles, readjusting his trademark cowboy hat.

I should explain my nickname. Theodore hates the name "Lenore", seen as it's loosely based off the idea of death. And so, he nicknamed me "Mackenzie" or "Mac" for short. Abigail and Emmet followed the suit. I met Theodore and Abigail when they visited the graveyard; Theodore for his brother, who died in the Games four years ago, and Abigail, for her Grandmother. I met Emmet through Theodore, because they work together.

"I'm good," I reply simply. "How are you?"

"I'm ready for a round of story telling." Emmet smirks cheekily.

"I've won every time!" I exclaim. "Your stories aren't scary enough."

"Then you can start, and Theo and Abi here can be the judges."

Sighing, I shake my head, sitting down with the others.

"Fine," I give in. "I'll start."

Emmet smiles at my defeat, ready and waiting for today's story. I'm quite the storyteller, especially when it comes to eerie stories. I tend to base them off of my own experiences of death, like with the dead that pass through our house. They make for some good stories, and I can work myself into such a frenzy that I'll even creep myself out sometimes.

"Are you sitting comfortably?" I ask.

The others laugh as they settle down to listen to my tale.

"Then I will begin…" I tell them.

As the sun begins to set, a ghostly smile forms on my lips as I begin my story, speaking of the horrors from beyond the grave.

Because of course, everyone has a tale to tell.

And I'll tell the tales of the Dead.

* * *

 **Pre-reapings! We have another one of these, before we have our two reapings, and our two train rides. I want introduce all of the characters enough times for you to get a real understanding of them. Hopefully, this will be enjoyable :D**

 **I'm considering updating the blog with quotes for each of your characters. Do you think that's a good idea? If most of you are interested in having a quote in the blog, then I will definitely PM you all and ask you for one. People have been asking me what the "Title" section is on the blog (This will soon be renamed "Brace" instead). This might seem like a lot of unneeded additional stuff, but all will be revealed as the story progresses.**

 **So, drop me a chart! Who did you love/like/feel neutral to/dislike in this chapter? How did you react to Austin's abuse? What do you think about Parker's rebellious ideas concerning his parents and their religion? How do you think Nova is going to cope with the emotional stress of the Games? How did you find Lenore's lifestyle and character? And finally, to the authors of these tributes, did I write your tributes well enough? Is there anything I can improve on? I plan on covering more details of your characters in future POV's :D**

 **I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, and hopefully, we'll be seeing each other soon enough!**

 **Over and out!  
~Mental**


	5. Anxiety

**Oh, hi. Is anyone even reading this? Probably not BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT!**

 **I'm happy to announce that I'm back for the time being. Shit has been dealt with XD  
To be fair, I did recover a while ago, so technically I don't have a valid reason as to why I'm uploading this now. But hey, as I always say, better late than never ;)**

 **Thank you to Remus98, MidnightRaven323, Sophia, writer12122121 (you troll, I can write those numbers faster now haha XP), Santiago, Alec, Sarah, cloudy5, MetallicShadow10, xxbookwormmockingjayxx and the Guest for giving me your amazing reviews! All of your comments have been duly noted. Thanks to everyone who had favorited and followed as well. :)**

 **I'm so sorry that I forgot to thank Sarah, MidnightRaven323, cloudy5 and Nate, for Austin, Lenore, Nova and Parker last chapter! It completely slipped my mind, so I'm sorry about that! On that note, thank you to Everlasting Impression, Nrrd-Grrl-Meg, KittyMae98, and MetallicShadow10 for Aisha, Geoni, Cassia, and Barric! :D**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. All rights go to their respective owners.**

* * *

" _ **Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in." ~Shannon L. Alder**_

* * *

 **Aisha Cain, Eighteen, District Four Female**

* * *

They told me that revenge would be sweet.

I've always had to be the one who laid low, living her life and working as hard as I could, only to have someone that always bested me. I was strong, and talented, not without my flaws of course, but I was up there, near the top. I could have been the one to best them all, this year's volunteer; an honour that many fight for. I fell just short of it, losing out to my own twin. Obviously there always had to be _someone_ who was better than me, someone who fought with the grace of a bird and stung like a vicious wasp. I was almost the best, but I forgot that Nyah, my _perfect_ sister, was the obvious choice for this year's competitor.

Jealous is not something I wanted to be. Nyah and I…we could have been perfect sisters together, always laughing and happy with friends and finally settling down with someone we loved. But life doesn't work like that. Sometimes, happy endings don't exist. I've always been compared to Nyah. I've always had to live in her shadow, the twin that was never quite perfect, the _undesired_ twin, the _unwanted_ twin. The one that my parents would sell off to a man for healthy amount of money.

That's all my parents care about. Money. Money for them to roll around in and consume…coins, and notes, and cheques, and bills…it all goes into their pockets. They had two daughters, two twins, one for the Hunger Games, and one to sell off like some kind of prostitute. I see their reasoning. Money can bring security, and the supposed "happiness" that people are looking for these days.

I wanted to be the twin that volunteered. I wanted it so badly that I knew I'd do anything to get where I wanted to be. After a lifetime of being second best, I used to ask myself if it was worth it anymore. But I knew it was. I needed to succeed. And I did.

All it took was some powdered fireroot in Nyah's morning cup of tea.

It was the perfect plan. The root would have weakened Nyah, ready for the choosing day. All I would have had to do was fight her and win. And with my victory would come with my ability to volunteer. But my plan worked too well. Nyah was bedridden for days. Even I got worried when she started bleeding, staining her sheets and coughing violently. I never foresaw that she'd come to me, a few days later, weeping and sobbing like a child. Because that's what I've done. I killed _her_ child, the one brewing inside of her.

And now I'm conflicted.

I'm this year's volunteer, but only because I killed my sister's baby to get here. I feel guilty, and it's something that I know will hang around me for quite some time. But there's another feeling that reigns over my guilt; satisfaction. All of my life, I've been underestimated and unappreciated, and now it's my time to step up. It's my challenge, my need to prove myself in this world. And it feels good. It feels good to finally have the opportunity to be valued more than second best for once. With Nyah out of the equation, I was chosen as this year's volunteer. I know it seems stupid for me to want this so badly, to risk my life for glory, but it's something I have to do. I have to show myself that I can do this, that I'm better than a good for nothing, second best twin.

I sigh to myself as I flick throwing stars into the neck of a dummy. Atlanta, quiet as usual, stays silent by my side. She's followed me around for a while now, and she's the closest person I could call a friend. I've never been good at making friends, and what friends I have are more out of convenience rather than anything else. I scan my surroundings, taking in some of the other trainees. Some look at me with intense disgust, while one or two send me a sharp nod.

I smirk slightly. I'm not the most popular girl around here; that was Nyah's role. I don't like all the joking and making friends for no reason. People tend not to like me because I cut them down for their lies or failures. Some trainees are a little too big-headed, too involved in themselves in some ways, so much that I cringe at them. Training isn't about how arrogant or how much of an asshole you can be. You're learning to fight and defend yourself, either for the Games or just for fun. I laid that out for all to see, silencing the idiots and respecting the trainees that did it right.

People hate me because they're wrong, and they don't want to admit it. But I don't care. There are some that understand, that respect me for focussing on what matters.

And what matters right now is winning this thing.

Maybe for once I'll prove myself worthy. Maybe for once I'll show my parents that I'm more than a stupid price tag. Maybe I can really be the person I've always wanted to be. All I have to do is take action and volunteer as planned. I'm ready for this. I've trained for this. I stand a chance at winning.

There's no greater pleasure than how happy I am now. I've finally become my own person, and I'm noticed for it. I've broken free from my sister's shadow to shine on my own.

I've finally done it.

And all it took was a bitter cup of tea.

* * *

 **Geoni Proctor, Thirteen, District Six Male**

* * *

"Hey, Jana, can you pass me that hammer?" I ask my friend, pointing a small finger at the miniature hammer in my toolbox.

"Sure!" Jana chirps, her green eyes searching for the instrument we need. "We need that to recalibrate the angular intermission between plates, correct?"

"Yes," I agree. "And we need to retighten the screws with an Alan Key again. Every time we readjust those plates I feel like the screws will come loose."

Jana hands me the hammer, the warmth of her hand combatted by the icy coolness of the metal. I lift the hammer in my hands and begin to tinker the metal plates into place. Jana in the meantime, superglues the plates in the right places in order for them to actually stay on this time. My desk is immaculate and clean; we've had to stop many times to clean the long tendrils of hardened glue off its surface. I can't stand mess; it gets in the way of what I'm doing, and it distracts me. Jana knows that my OCD can be a problem at times, but she's patient around it.

The silence is comfortable, filled with the energy of two working minds on an invention of their own. It sounds pretty simple, but we're making a robot at the moment. But it's not just any robot, it's an automatic wind up a potential battery life of at least six hours. The problem we've been having so far, are the shoulders of the robot. We wanted some metal shoulder plates, suspended by a screw, to protect the robot's neck in case it falls. And that's where we ran into a problem. The plates weren't positioned correctly, and thus we've been finding the angle we need…at the cost of the screws loosening several times.

Jana finishes off the last plate with the glue gun, and sets the object down, grinning from ear to ear.

"I think that'll be good for now, Geoni." she sighs, untying her brown curls from behind her head.

I wince slightly: imagine putting all the oil and stuff on your hair! Almost gagging at the thought, I quickly move over to the bucket of water in my room, feeling the cold water wash away the oils and sweat from hard work. The prototype for our robot is nearly finished, and I'm so proud of it! It will be the fourth project I'll have finished with Jana now. We've been working together really well ever since we became friends a while back.

I've never been the best at making friends, because of my OCD, and how awkward I feel around some people, but Jana and her twin brother, Lysander, were quick to find me. They had a problem making friends, because their father is one of the large factory owners around here. Their social standing makes people jealous of them. Unfortunately, that's been reflected onto me as well. My father started off as a nobody, but as soon as he made his revolutionary blueprints, he made a livelihood. Most Capitol trains these days tend to be a version of my father's designs. He's away quite a lot, designing and making new trains, leaving me to live with my Mom, the Mayor of District Six.

A knock at the door brings me out of my closed mind, and my head moves towards the sound. Jana walks over to the smooth barrier, twisting the doorknob and revealing none other than Lysander, who appears to be shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Ugh, what are _you_ doing up here?" Jana groans. "You won't understand any of our blueprints, let alone the prototype for our automatic wind up version one point three!"

"Uh…what?" Lysander asks stupidly, his eyes crossing slightly as he fights to understand what Jana is on about. I have to confess, is it slightly amusing for the two of them to bicker, but it's more endearing than anything else. I guess it would be interesting to have a twin, but that makes me wonder about the genetics behind having twins.

Regrettably, I ignore that question and focus on real life.

"We're building a robot." I translate kindly.

Jana growls and rolls her eyes. She doesn't see the point in me translating our technical language to Lysander. If anything, I feel sorry for him. He's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's not a lost cause, and I know he'll learn something eventually.

"Oh, cool!" Lysander exclaims. "Are you done with it yet?"

"If you consider the recalibration of the iron plates to exactly forty-five degrees, along with the necessary amount of superglue to stabilise and execute the stability of the-"

"No." I say simply, cutting off Jada with a sharp look.

As much as Jana is my best friend, she doesn't make things any easier for her poor twin brother.

"Oh…" Lysander visibly deflates slightly.

"What are you here for anyway?" Jana enquires.

"We need to head off soon." Lysander answers, scratching the top of his head. "Dad said he wants us back by the time we get home. He's got us some new reaping clothes and wants us to try them on before tomorrow."

Jana makes a face, but resigns.

"Alright, alright…you coming Geoni?"

"No, I'll stay here to clean things up." I reply with a warm smile. "But I'll catch you two before the reapings tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow!" Lysander smiles, coming forward and embracing me. Jana follows the suit and pulls on her shoes, which are outside the door.

After grabbing a cloth and cleaning the doorknob of any germs, I follow the twins downstairs, and open the door for them.

"I wish I could escort you back, but I really do need to clean up." I smile apologetically.

"But your room is so clean!" Lysander whines.

"Not clean enough for me," I shrug. "I'll catch you later!"

"He's OCD you idiot!" Jana cries, swatting her brother playfully over the head.

"Oh yeah…" Lysander remembers, laughing as Jana facepalms.

"We'll see you later!" Jana calls as she leaves me behind, dragging Lysander before her.

Seconds later, the image of their retreating backs is filled by our closed front door, a door devoid of splinters and painted red. My brown eyes continue to stare at the door for a second, but they soon dart away, back in action once more. My hand slides gently across the smooth surface before falling to my side. I move up the stairs with hardly a sound, returning to my room and cleaning my desk for the last time today. I gently pull my duvet across the bed by an inch, smoothing it out with my hands in order to get rid of any creases. I reposition some books on my bookshelf and wipe up any excess water on the lid of the bucket. After a few minutes, I deduce that my room is as spotless and as perfectly tidy as I can possibly get it.

I hear a knock, and my bedroom door creaks open. I'm expecting to see Arryn, our caretaker…and within seconds, there she stands with grey curls and a pump figure, looking down at me with fondness. She's like the Grandmother I never had, and even though her job is to clean and keep everything in order, my family pretty much consider her as one of us.

"Hi Arryn." I smile.

"Hello Geoni." the woman chuckles, patting my dark head. "Your Mother wants to talk you, she'll wants to spend some time with you before the reapings."

"Are you going to join us?" I question.

Arryn smiles sadly.

"I'll be making cookies in the kitchen, dear, but I'll join you shortly before I head home."

She pats me gently on the shoulder and sends me on my way, moving slowly after my pattering feet. I make my way quietly downstairs, offering Arryn to go before me (to which she declines). My Mother is in the front room, seated on the cushioned bench by the window. The light outside is bright, but my Mother's face looks anything but, obviously worried about tomorrows reaping.

"Mom?" I ask, stepping forward and readjusting my glasses.

With a jolt, she turns to me, soaking up my image as if to remember me for the last time.

"Geoni…" she whispers tiredly in greeting.

"Is this about tomorrow?" I question. "We both know I'm fine. The statistical chance of me getting picked is low. I know there's still a chance, no matter small it is, but there's no point in being worried."

My Mother smiles painfully, and nods.

"I know."

"Then what's the matter?" I probe. "You look so sad. Are you okay?"

"I'm just worried. I know I shouldn't be, but I am Geoni." she sighs. "Come here."

She opens her arms for a hug, and I huddle into her warmth, closing my eyes and holding her tight. And that's where we sit, holding one another for the comfort my Mom needs. I can tell she's worried, and I'm scared too. I'm her blanket of comfort, and she's mine.

If there's one thing that's clear, if I get reaped, then I'm fighting to get home.

But I don't need to worry. I'm only in that bowl twice.

I'll be fine. Right?

* * *

 **Cassia Foster, Fifteen, District Eight Female**

* * *

I'm so bored.

The wall I'm staring at is fairly uneventful in its appearance, wallpaper peeling and paint fading away. The only reason I'm staring at the wall is because nothing's happened for the past half an hour, and I have nothing better to do right now. I guess things would be more exciting in a home with a loving family…food on the table, parents that loved you, and happiness all around. It's depressing, so bleak that it's worse that this care home I'm living in. There are several of these homes splattered around the District, almost as if they've sprung up everywhere for children left homeless by the rebellion. Only six years ago, District Eight was hit hard by bombings for being the most violent and rebellious District in Panem. President Snow halted the rebellion and stopped it in its tracks, but that wasn't before he killed hundreds of District Eight citizens. No parents meant nowhere for the children to stay. Eight has more children than adults, and the only thing that can heal that problem is time.

The care home I'm in has about fifty of us living in it, even though it's only meant to hold about thirty. Most of us have to share rooms, unless you count the eldest ones. Once you're sixteen or seventeen, you might be lucky enough to have a room of your own. Eighteen year olds are forced into factories or other low paying jobs. It's not a pretty future, but it's better than going into the Hunger Games, getting killed by a Peacekeeper, or dying of starvation.

I would be a lot happier had my sister, Cumin, been here. I would have felt calmer, more myself and more free. But it's been a while since I've felt that way. Now all I feel is anger. I'm always wound up, tense and restless, almost as if I've been made for the very purpose to hurt other people, just like my Mother. It was rough for my family after the rebellion. I'd never known my Dad, and all we had was a bio-polar Mom on drugs. We tried to get her to stop wasting our money, our livelihood, to try and make our family safer, especially for Cumin.

Then we found the diary.

It was Mom's, and I read every page. It was filled with writing, words that hated herself, and hated me. They wanted to torture us, to hurt us until we moved no longer. Every word was like a knife to the heart, an eternal sting that threatened to stop its constant beat, leaving me on the floor to die. She hated us. She hated herself. She hated everything. Cumin and I decided to wean her off the drugs, throwing them out and getting rid of them in secret. We even decided to talk to her about her diary.

It was the biggest mistake I've made in my life.

Mom flew into a rage, shouting and screaming, eyes bulging and spittle flying from her lips. She whispered obscenities, and then shouted them, wailing in fury like a woman scorned. She swung for us, caught Cumin, and threw her down the stairs.

She broke Cumin's spine forever.

People helped us. They helped us escape from Mom, and Mom was sent to prison, never to leave again. But the damage was done, and I soon realised that Cumin would never, ever be able to walk again. The whole ordeal was enough trauma as it was, but what made it worse was that Cumin and I were separated. She needed extra care, but as much as I insisted that I was capable of looking after her, I was ignored and sent here.

I never saw her again.

"Cassia? Cassia!"

Rosanna, my only friend rushes over to me.

"That's where you were!" she gushes. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer, grateful for something to do. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Rosanna shrugs. "You?"

"Staring at a wall," I smirk. "I love it sooo much."

Rosanna laughs and I smile widely. I like to make people laugh sometimes, because it brightens up the mood, even when I'm feeling less than happy myself. Rosanna is one of the only people who really understands me…but I haven't told her anything about how I got here. She's always been interested, but she knows not to bother asking. It's the only time I've yelled at her, so I think she guessed that it's a sore subject.

The sad thing is that I'm not sure if I'll ever tell anyone about what happened to me. It's just too close to my heart, kept under lock and key and hidden within me. I've never really let anyone in, but that was for a reason. What if they got too close? The results could only be disastrous, a failure that could threaten to break me again.

No, I'm definitely not strong enough yet, and I don't think I ever will be.

"Hey, Cassia, let's go for a walk!" Rosanna chirps cheerfully. "It's our last free day before…you know…"

I look up to her, watching her irises twitch slightly as they scan my face for a reaction. She cares so much about me, and yet she knows so little. My heart yearns for her to know about my past, but both my head and my lips know better than to speak the words that so desperately wish to be free. They're on the tip of my tongue, so close to making themselves known that it almost drives me crazy. There are times, random moments in my friendship with Rosanna, where I've just wanted to blurt out everything that's happened to me, but I _can't._ I just…can't.

"…Okay!" I smile brightly, trying my best to hide that I'm really not feeling great at the moment.

As I stand up and follow my friend, my past flashes before my eyes; my Mother, Cumin's broken form, and the diary in my hands. I wish someone knew what I've been through and what I've had to cope with for all this time.

I wish I could tell someone, but…

 _It's just too painful to share._

* * *

 **Barric Roland, Sixteen, District Nine Male**

* * *

The screen flickers in front of me, colour bars skimming over the surface of the faded picture that lights up our sitting room. Snuggled up next to me is my younger brother, Blaze, and growling over in the corner to the left is my younger sister, Selena. Of course, she's never pleased with whatever I make her do because I'm "overprotective" and "boring". But she doesn't realise that I'm doing this for her own good. I don't think Mom would forgive me if she walked in right now, to be honest. Her eyes would bug and she'd freeze up in horror. Never, ever, would my Mom endorse me to watch the Hunger Games.

And yet, that's exactly what we're doing.

Maybe that's why Selena keeps grumbling.

Currently, we're watching the review of last year's Hunger Games for the third time this month. Condensed into a couple of hours, the film is a highly edited collection of major events that took place during the Eightieth Hunger Games. But I'm not watching it because I like the Hunger Games, I'm watching it because I have to. Blaze, Serena, myself…if any one of us went into the Games, we'd never have been prepared for it. So that's why the three of us are sitting here and watching this. Every year I have, and will sit them down to watch the recap of the Hunger Games. I'll point out strategies and mistakes that each tribute has made, so the three of us will be none the wiser should the time come for us to fight.

Another annoyed huff from Selena diverts my attention from the TV screen. I skim over her small face to see her eyebrows meshed together, and her skin wrinkled in a childish scowl. I look at her intensely, trying to silently gain her attention.

"This is boring!" she whines aloud, shifting slightly out of her position in the corner of the room.

I sigh, shaking my head at her.

"It's for your own good," I explain to her calmly. "What if you went into the Hunger Games and you didn't know how to do anything?"

"How's this supposed to make us better?" Serena fires back. "We can't learn by sitting here all the time. Plus, it's my first reaping. I won't get picked!"

I smile a little at her confidence. She's too young and naïve to understand the reality of her situation. She's pretending to be fearless, like a ferocious lion cub that is desperate to prove itself to the rest of the pack. But Serena doesn't get it. If she doesn't know _something_ about how the games function, then she'll be doomed if she's reaped, and there's nothing I can do to protect her.

I can protect Blaze, who's only thirteen, but he and Selena are like chalk and cheese. He agrees with me about what we're doing, because he realises that it's necessary. Selena's the type of girl who would volunteer just to prove herself. That's something I'm making sure doesn't happen. I mean, I've done all I can to keep them out of the arena, and that includes prohibiting them from taking tesserae. I've taken out what my family needs.

But today, it's Blaze that goes against my word, which is rare. My head turns to him as he sits up and runs his small hands through his hair.

"Can we have a break?" he begs me, looking at me with those wide pondering eyes of his. "We've seen this so many times, and we already know who wins."

I bite the inside of my cheek, considering Blaze's request. To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention to the programme either. It's not like missing out on this will hurt too much. Plus, tomorrow's the reaping. Maybe I should cut the other two some slack. Someone's getting reaped tomorrow, and it could easily be someone they know. It could easily be them.

It could easily be me.

Caving in, I nod.

"Fine," I tell them. "Make sure to see your friends in case you don't see them tomorrow."

Blaze gives a loud cheer, leaping off the sofa and hugging me tightly around the neck.

"Thanks Barric!" he chimes. "You're the best!"

At his words, I can't help but to smile and watch him as he races out of the house. I hear the front door slam loudly, followed by the receding sound of his footsteps scraping against the gravel outside. Serena is a lot slower to move, but finally she does so, stretching and putting on her shoes. I can tell she's happy that she's won this time, but I know she cares. She just thinks I go too far sometimes.

As if to confirm my thoughts, she returns to the living room and gives me a hug.

"Stay safe out there." I tell her.

"When am I not safe?" She snorts.

"Pretty much all the time." I smile, waggling my finger at her.

She flashes me a cheeky smile in reply, and in seconds I'm left alone.

Mom's not home yet, and she won't be for a couple of hours. Like me, she works odd jobs, earning money the best way she can. People need a lot of help around here, and they offer food, clothes, and sometimes money for it all to get done. I'm willing to help whenever I can. It helps Mom out a lot too. My Dad…well, he took the coward's way out. He killed himself when I was five. He didn't think he could run a family.

I vowed never to be like my father. How can I be a coward when my family is in need of so much help? I've sacrificed everything for Mom, Serena and Blaze; school, my dreams…even my social life. But you know, it's not that bad. It makes people happy. It makes my family happy. I just want to be there for someone so I can help them out.

 _But what about you, Barric?_

Sighing to myself and shaking my head, I get up off the sofa and turn off the TV. In a small burst of static, the screen goes dark, and the dim light in our sitting room leaves me in darkness. Stumbling over to the curtains, I open them, wincing as the light floods the living room and assaults my eyes.

 _What about me?_

I can't think of my own dreams and wishes…at least not yet. While there are so many things that I want from my life, I have to remember that my family are more important. Their needs must come before what I want. A more selfish part of me reminds me yet again of what I want to do. I want to settle down with someone, someone who cares about my needs as much as I care about theirs. My family are happy…why can't I be the same? People tell me that I have so much potential…with a whole head filled with ideas and a smart outlook on life. And yet, I have to keep my family safe. I have to be the Dad we never had.

Leaving the house and walking down the street, I head for the fields. One of the farmers asked me for a hand; he has some carts that need pulling. Walking down the street, I glance at people from afar. There are a lot of attractive people here…both male and female. It's a shame that I can't get with someone and settle down like everyone else does. But maybe that's for the best.

Maybe I have to sacrifice my own happiness for the well-being of those closest to me.

But I can't help thinking…

Is that really fair on me?

* * *

 **If you want to track my progress on chapters for this story, then check my profile, where I will tell you how many POV's I have left to write for each chapter.**

 **For once, my New Year's resolution (which was 3 months ago, I know) is to write more chapters and put more of a focus on FanFiction (BAHAHA, 3 MONTHS IN AND I'VE ALREADY BROKEN IT XD) I'm going to focus on what I love to do best, which of course is writing. I also have a two day week until exams in May, so I have a lot of time to occupy myself with chapters.**

 **You deserve more chapters, and I have the time to give them to you! :)**

 **So, drop me a chart! Who did you love/like/feel neutral to/dislike in this chapter? Do you think Aisha did something wrong, or could she be forgiven? Do you think Geoni is smart enough to make himself a threat in the Games? Do you think Cassia's right to keep her past to herself? Do you think Barric should find his own happiness, or is he being too selfish? Did I write these characters well enough, or are there things you want me to improve on for next time?**

 **I will update at some point (very soon hopefully). AND YES I'M BACK :D**

 **Over and out!  
~Mental**


	6. Reality

**Hi!**

 ***says he's back***

 ***doesn't upload for almost a year***

 ***finally addresses my issue with SYOT's rather than putting it off***

 **Just warning you; this will be a long A/N, but worth the read, I assure you. The next A/N will a nice one okay? I promise.**

 **I've spent a long time thinking about whether or not I want to continue this story. I've always had a very turbulent personal life, but I've decided to leave that private now. I've experienced a lot of negativity in the SYOT community that made me not want to post this chapter, let alone stay on the site. I've met wonderful people in the community too, but most of them don't really write anymore.**

 **Both writing and reading SYOT's are exhausting, I'll be honest. They take up a lot of my energy, and I don't really have any motivation to write them anymore. It's a bit of a drag at times. It's like when you're running and you get a stitch. It's horrible.**

 **NONETHELESS, this is a chapter that will require your feedback. PM me, review me, contact me, talk to me in some fucking way. Tell me if you care about this story. If you do, then I'll write it. It'll take some time, but I'll do it. I hate writing summaries because I don't want to let you down.** **Consider this story as my best writing. If you want it to happen, I'll do it. If not, I'll give you a summary. Just tell me.**

 **Time for the reapings.**

 **Thanks for any reviews, favourites, follows...all of that jazz. Each and every one is appreciated. Thank you, honestly. It gives my confidence a boost, and the feedback has been great for my writing. MetallicShadow10, MidnightRaven323, Jenna, xxbookwormmockingjayxx, Alec, and Nate...thanks a bunch for hanging around to review the last chapter.**

 **Thank you to everyone who sent in their characters for this chapter: Adira (by LokiThisIsMadness), Landon (by Jalen Kun - yes, I saw the Dollhouse reference when I wrote him XD), Izzy (by BamItsTyler), and Leigha (by jakey121).**

 _ **I don't know how I'll do writing characters since I'm rusty, but I'll do my best. If you don't like it, just deal lol**_

 **TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child abuse and neglect. Alcoholic parenting. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created.**

* * *

 _ **"It's about being real. Being awake to everything. Feeling like nothing can hurt you if you can look it straight on." ~Krista Tippett**_

* * *

 **Adira Linett, Eighteen, District One Female**

* * *

We meet under the old oak tree in the meadow.

We're alone, just Liana and I, enjoying the time before my final reaping.

I gently rip up a blade of grass from the lush green field beneath my body, twirling the green stalk between my fingers. It's odd really, how quiet the world is at this moment, when in a couple of hours the District will be a hive of enthusiastic careers, rushing and punching their way to the front of the stage.

That's too bad.

I'm volunteering today. No glory for them this year.

I'm tense, which is to be expected considering the task ahead of me. I'm supposed to be going into the Hunger Games where I could very easily die. I'm powerful, strong, skilled, perhaps even a possible victor. But I know my weaknesses as well, and that's what puts me out from the rest. It's so easy to be overconfident in a game like this, but that will only get you killed.

I have bigger worries though, ones that hit closer to home. I'm anxious, unsettled, and so obviously _worried_ as usual that I'm shaking like a leaf. Hell, I'm a plant blowing in the wind. I'm more unsettled than the raging oceans of District Four when a thunderstorm hits the shores. Even in this quiet and peaceful place, I feel like I'm about to be attacked. Then again, this is always how I feel. I always feel on the defensive, as if something is about to come out and stab me in the back when I'm not looking.

Thinking about it, it's a stupid thing to worry about, but that's the truth of the matter. I can't keep the possibilities of getting back-stabbed by someone out of my head. I'm constantly on edge. Even the soft calls of tweeting sparrows can't quell the emotional unrest that's inside of me.

"Adira, babe," Liana says, bringing my attention to her.

Her grey eyes are clouded in concern.

"It's okay. We're safe. I'm here."

Liana is my girlfriend, and if I was honest with anyone, then she would probably be the best thing that's ever happened to me. I've lived my life fighting to get what I want, and I suppose that my reward for getting by for so long was meeting her. Truthfully, I didn't fall for her straight away. She kind of crept up on me, like a beautiful stalking wolf that slowly drew me to her beauty. Her red curls are like scarlet wine, enough to make me feel drunk from her love. She is my everything, and I am hers.

But I'm not worthy.

I don't want to admit it, but I'm not. I'm not worthy of Liana's love. I don't feel like I deserve it until I've proved myself in some way to her. I know she'd tell me off if I ever told her that's the way I felt, but I just can't help but to feel that way. I guess that's part of the reason I'm volunteering for this year's games. I want to prove to people what I'm capable of. I want to be worthy of people's respect, and in Liana's case, her love.

Sighing, I lay on my back, my hand creating a shadow for my grey eyes, blocking out the brightness of the sun. A ticklish feeling moves it's way gently down my face; Liana is stroking my cheek lovingly. I try to relax, and I manage to somewhat. There's just too many emotions and thoughts inside of me, and that makes it hard to control.

"What are you thinking about?" Liana asks me, seemingly curious.

"You," I tell her. "Volunteering. Everything else."

Expressing my emotions is hard. I've always been the quiet girl of the family, the one people skip over. The one people forget. That's okay though. Everyone else in my family are pretty loud, so I guess I stand out in a way.

"You know you can do this," she tells me, confidence glittering in her eyes. "You don't win by not trying. You win because you've come so far, and you're only willing to go further. I know you can win. You're smart, strong, skilled...you'll be a formidable enemy in the Games, nobody can deny that."

"I'm not worried about my skills," I sigh, my hand brushing through my tangled, straw-like hair. "I'm worried that someone in the career pack will betray us."

"And if that happens," Liana replies. "Then you'll know who to kill first. You're alert enough to know if something's up. If you smell trouble, get out of there and hunt tributes on your own. Or maybe make an ally. Who knows?"

"Are you sure I'll be okay?" I pout, still feeling somewhat dispirited.

In response, Liana leans over and rests her nose on mine. I look into her eyes and lose myself in their gentle colour. She kisses me gently on the lips, a kiss that's deep and meaningful. After a second she pulls back, whispering to me.

"Absolutely. I have every confidence in you."

I wish I could tell my family about Liana, and how amazing she is. They often wonder why I'm away so often, spending time with her. They think I have a secret boyfriend. Well, I have a secret _girlfriend_ , but I don't know what they'd say about something like that. Considering the fact I sleep around Liana's house, they'd definitely disapprove. My confidence will be stronger if I survive the Games though. I can come back home to my family and introduce them to Liana, whether or not they accept me for who I am.

I've had crushes on guys in the past, but Liana's the one for me. Being bisexual isn't usually frowned upon unless you consider what some families think. It's mostly accepting, except for maybe the more traditional homes. I would consider my parents one of the more "traditional" families.

Mom's not so bad. I know she doubts herself, but she cares about all of us. My older brother Tanner is easily her favourite, being the future man of the family. For the most part, Becca, Sasha and I just do our own thing, although my sisters are usually loud. As kids, they all used to compete for attention except me. I just kept my mouth shut, my head down, and worked towards what I wanted.

"You should go, babe," Liana whispers. "You need to get ready."

I don't want to leave her behind. I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing it gently.

"You'll come and visit me in the Justice Building, right?" I ask her. "After the reapings?"

Smiling, Liana nods.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Being two years older than me, Liana doesn't have to worry about the reapings because she's outgrown them. In some ways I would consider myself lucky, but in others I see the Games as an opportunity. I have to show the world what I'm made of. I'm not just a quiet girl blending into the background, I'm Adira Linett, and I'm ready to fight.

Somehow, the idea doesn't fit well into my head.

I can't help but doubt the image of my victory, especially when I'm aware that I risk losing everything I have. Is that worth it? Is it worth me leaving everything behind just to prove myself? Is it worth me surrendering my life here in District One when I could die at any point during the Games?

I've had this conversation a hundred times before, and the answer has always been yes.

It's definitely worth it.

"I'll catch you later." I tell Liana, smiling nervously.

Getting up, I brush myself down and check myself for green stripes against my jeans. Grass-stains are the least I have to deal with, but they're still annoying. Liana gives me a hopeful smile and a wave, leaving me to return home alone. I've rolled my jeans up enough to expose my ankles to the warm sun. The grass tickles my exposed skin and I move swiftly to the other side of the field, thousands upon thousands of green tendrils beneath my feet, reaching up into the sky. I jump over the fence with ease, feeling the rough wood beneath my fingers. Years later, and this fence still needs a paint job. I make my way along the cobbled path leading to the main part of the District. It's a lengthy walk, but mostly because I take my time. I might as well spend it how I want it, considering I might never have time to myself like this for a while.

My house is a usual haven of silence when I finally return. My Mom is probably in one of the jewelry stores, making sure things are running smoothly as usual. Mom and I have never really been the closest, especially because my Mom prefers to focus on my older brother, Tanner. He's enough of a show off to get most of the attention, since he's the charming one of our family, the one who knows his way around words and people. Then there's Sasha, Becca and me. The three girls, left to one side to be forgotten. Dad's probably working hard as well. Dad and I get along, in the rare moments when we are alone together. He's always working hard on all of our jewelry businesses and running them in an efficient way, but that means we don't seem him very often. As the two quietest members of the family, Dad and I understand each other, even when our moments are filled with silence and looks of understanding. It's a shame those moments are rare.

Both Sasha and Becca are waiting for me outside the house. Honestly, my two sisters are two of the closest people in my life. I tell them everything, and vice versa. Sasha's more naive, only sixteen and quite sweet, still somewhat airy and childish in her mannerisms. She's growing up fast, but she'll always be my little sister. Becca is louder, but she gets me. She understands how unsure I feel of other people, how unstable I can get when my emotions fight over each other. It's not as serious as it sounds, but it's bad enough to affect my life more than it needs to.

"How's Liana?" Becca asks me as soon as I'm within earshot.

Sasha and Becca are the only one's who know about Liana. Maybe if I win the Games, then they won't be the only ones to know.

"She was good, yeah," I tell them shortly, my nerves clearly on my mind. "I'll say goodbye properly in the Justice Building after the reapings. I know she'll want to come. Are you two coming too?"

"Duh!" Sasha smiles. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Adira."

I crack a smile. It's a rare appearance, especially with my nerves so high strung, but I'm happy for it.

"Come here," I ask them opening my arms wide. "I'm gonna need a moment..."

Without question, both of my sisters comes to me, allowing me to embrace them. I take in everything about them; their warmth, their scent, their beating hearts that hold an unconditional love for me. What would I do without these people? They've helped to keep me sane for so long, so that I don't scream the house down. Even if my family isn't perfect, then at least these two have made it worlds better.

"We should get you ready," Becca decides finally, taking my hand. "Come on Adira! We have to make you look badass enough to make the outliers shit themselves."

"Yeah!" Sasha pipes up. "I have look I want to try out. I've been planning this for _months_."

Laughing, I follow them into the house, letting them drag me upstairs and into our shared room. We're so close that it's normal for all of us to share the same room. We don't have secrets, and we're there for each other when we can be. It just works better that way.

As I stand in front of the mirror on the wall, my smile begins to die, even though the joy still resides in my heart.

Even if I'm dying in these Games, then at least I can know that I tried. I was strong enough to make a stand, to prove myself where others couldn't believe in me to do so. I've been the forgotten child for so long now, and I feel like it's finally time for me to show everyone that I'm not to be underestimated. I'll prove myself worthy of Liana's love. I'll show her the girlfriend she truly deserves.

With these thoughts and the giggling of my sisters next to me, I can believe in myself.

The sound of their laughter...

It's a memory I'll treasure forever.

* * *

 **Landon Caruso, Eighteen, District Two Male**

* * *

My house is quiet, empty, and cold.

Its walls scream emptiness, a void that threatens to shake its foundations to its very core. A single sound here is amplified by a thousand times, residual echos that repeat themselves, over and over and over again. The mirror before me is a pristine model, my empty expression reflected in the spotless surface. It's almost as if I'm looking into another world, just as empty and cold as my own. It's almost as if the noise around it is sucked inside, dissolving into deep, dark silence...

But it's fake.

Almost as fake as my fucking family.

My family is a proud one, fueled by arrogance and thought to be perfect. We can walk around in our suits and dresses, playing dress up a pretending to be something we're not. That's what the Caruso's are known for. We're a collective group of pristine pieces, a family that strives for perfection over anything else. My friends are friends that my father chose for me. My life is spent inside the house most of the time, with the exception of brief contact with the outside world. This is what we must look like, pure and perfect, a lot like a porcelain doll...so pretty, yet so fragile. I'm a caged bird, locked behind glass and brick with no way of escape.

A part of me wishes to escape.

I could run outside, down to the meadow or out with some of the other members of the District. We could laugh together, joke around and have a good time. But no, the Caruso's are not like that. I have to do what my family expects of me, rather than doing what I want. That means suits, champagne and politeness rather than the appealing relaxation that commoner life could bring me. I can't say a word against Father, and there's nobody else that will help me, beside the servant's of course,who would probably get fired if they ever tried to help me out.

The mirror in front of me tells me enough. I'm dressed in a smart suit, perfectly clean and matching, ready for the reapings.

Today, I'm going to volunteer.

I don't want to volunteer, not at all. It's my Father's wishes that have put me in this position. Of course, his perfect little boy needs to go out there and be a victor, doesn't he? He has to show the District that the Caruso family are more than just rich; they breed victors too. Even the thought of words coming from my Father's mouth repulses me, vomit boiling in my stomach. Not a word will escape my lips, at least not yet. As soon as I'm in that arena, all of the secrets about my family with come out, slowly at first, and then all at once. I would pay all the money in the world to see my Father's expression when that happens. My face breaks into a smile at that thought. I can imagine his face paling and draining of all colour. Next, plates will smash and words will echo off these empty walls. He'll be angry, and I'll love it.

Beforehand, Father's anger would always scare me. If I ever disobeyed him, he'd lock me up in a closet, leaving me in the suffocating darkness for hours on end with no way to escape. Even now, I shift uncomfortably at the memories of the countless times he's locked me in there. He's done it ever since I was a child. If I stepped a toe out of line or didn't present myself perfectly, then into the closet I would go. I would spend hours in there, coughing violently as I breathed in the musty air, dust clogging up my throat and choking me slowly. The wooden walls of my prison were rough, rife with splinters that stung my fingers. I remember struggling in the tight and constrictive space. It was always dark in there, a never-ending darkness that lost me within itself. The ominous blackness swallowed me up, leaving me to cry in a ball for hours, begging for my release.

They are memories that haunt me even to this day.

As much as I would love to change and be more like my true self, I can't...at least not yet. Maybe I can relax more in the arena, say what I want. But until then, every day is a training day. I was training this morning in preparation for the Games. Ever since I was six, I've been forced to go down into the basement and fight over and over and over again. I've watched every Hunger Games from start to finish. I've trained with almost every weapon there is to train with. And even so, I was never perfect enough for Father. I was pushed relentlessly until I achieved something. I hate training. I really do. It's a meaningless task that gives me no joy, and yet no words of protest must come from my lips, not if I want to end up in that closet again. Being older, the tight space would be even tighter and twice as uncomfortable.

I'm done here.

The stairs don't creak at all as I walk downstairs, and my quiet footsteps are barely audible as I move silently into the kitchen to greet my Mother. I figured that I might as well be the doll that Father wants me to be, the mannequin everyone asks for. My Mother is often drunk in here, sipping from bottles of old wine. She drinks to forget, but she always remembers. I can't pinpoint why she's drunk. I'm not close to her when she's sober. I'm not close to her at all. Maybe it's the women my Father brings home so often, his dirty secret that is locked behind my lips. It's a secret that must stay in my head, caged a lot like myself. I learnt of Father's secret, and I know that Mother knows as well. She can sit there, dressed up and pretty, looking vain and trying to be the perfect wife. But the reality is broken, shattered in the wake of her drunken slurring.

The District thinks we're perfect. We're far from it. But of course everyone else believes different. The Caruso family are faultless, are they not? The reputation of our perfection is widespread and well-known. It's what draws people to us rather than what drives them away. Many girls have expressed their attraction to my green eyes and brown curls. I suppose I'm attractive to them, although Father will probably want me to marry someone of his choice.

That's if I live that long.

"Greetings, Mother." I say politely, looking at my Mother's half open eyes and loud belching.

There are four empty wine bottles next to her, and she's half way through her fifth. She's far gone for sure, but in a way I doubt she cares about herself. I don't care about her either. I don't care about anyone in this family, but I digress. After all, I have to be the perfect prince everyone wants me to be. Thoughts like these will only make me want to talk about them, and talking about them lands me back in that closet.

"Whadoyuuwant?" she slurs, looking at me with a sense of disdain.

"I was wondering what you thought of this suit," I tell her politely, hiding my distaste with ease. "Father wants me to wear it for when I volunteer today. For the Hunger Games. Do you think it's suitable?"

My tone is cool and calm, almost borderline clinical. As always, it holds no emotion. I'll speak to people like myself when they accept me for being myself. I can't do that here, and so I must obey the rules. I say it softly, gently, almost submissively. I have to play my part after all, the meek boy from District Two with an unknown sense of strength. The cold and empty kid, the one who can kill without mercy.

"Getdafuckouto'here..." she slurs again.

 _You get the fuck out of here._

"As you wish, Mother."

Bowing, I leave the kitchen, searching for my Father. It's not long until we have to go to the reapings, an experience I'm sure will be amazing. Think again. It's an experience I can't stand to endure. I'll cope with it for now. I'll do anything to escape my asshole of a father. He's just looking to profit from me as usual.

My sister appears to me, a gentle fade into existence as if she's some kind of ghost.

"Hello Brother." she greets me.

"Are you here for a reason?" I reply, the politeness dropping from my tone. "I didn't think you would be one to come and say goodbye."

She smiles, an empty face with no happiness behind it. I don't care for my sister, and I don't think she cares for me. It's a mutual emptiness, an emptiness I've long grown used to. I used to believe that she cared, but these days I feel like she doesn't. She hasn't made any indication to suggest otherwise.

"Well, I thought it prudent to bid farewell to you, dear Brother," she tells me. "The Victor of the 81st Hunger Games stands before me, does he not? I must look upon you in awe and wonder about the incredible feats you'll commit in the arena."

She sounds sarcastic, sickly sweet and fake, much like her appearance. She's too much like Mother; too perfect, to artificial, too curated into something she's not. Her words irritate me slightly. If I was a victor, I would do all I could to never to come back. If I won, I would have to return here, where my life is nothing but a mask, a shell of what I could be. Maybe volunteering for my death is something I wish for, just to spite my Father. I could die in the arena and escape from everything that's held me back for the past eighteen years. I could win too, tell my family to fuck off and claim my prize. But my future is uncertain. My Father controls my every move, and he could do it again. Even moving to a different place might not take me away from his domineering grasp.

"Britney." I say, my features like stone but my insides like fire.

"Landon." she replies, looking at me carefully.

"Farewell," I tell her. "May you pray for my safe return."

I almost gag on the forced politeness of my words, but I remain composed.

"I will, dear Brother." she replies, just as my Father rounds the corner.

As soon as she's finished with me, my sister walks away again, almost as if my existence means nothing to her. It probably doesn't.

"Right Landon," my Father tells me sternly. "You know the rules. Volunteer. Get yourself to the stage. Win the Hunger Games."

"Yes, Father." I tell him, my body motionless.

I'm facing the door, but I feel his hand dig into my shoulder and he begins to push me forward to collect my coat.

"We've been training you for years now," he continues. "You're not perfect, but you're ready. You're ready to win."

I nod at his words, a simple confirmation I do when I'm already zoning out, closing myself off from his constant spew of bullshit.

 _Yes, Father. Of course, Father. Anything for you, Father._

Fuck my Father. Fuck my family. Fuck my reputation.

All I wanted was to escape. Is that too much to ask? Am I hoping for something that will never happen?

All I wanted was to get away. I live in an empty place, paint a smile on my face and hope to be as perfect as they want me to be. No, we won't let them look through the curtains of our painted windows or hear the slurs of my Mother as she forgets my Father's infidelity. We'll pretend to be perfect, before melting into our own sins and secrets, only to harden into shiny, smooth plastic as soon as someone comes along. We're not scandalous, oh no. We're not fake, never!

We're the Caruso family, happily living in our perfect little dollhouse.

* * *

 **Isabella "Izzy" Moire, Sixteen, District Five Female**

* * *

My day ends early, and my peace of mind leaves me.

Working among the machines in the factory where I work, is probably the only place where I can find a moment of solace from my fragmented mind. Honestly, my head is a hive filled with buzzing bees. It's not my fault I'm slightly out of place, a little bit eccentric, a little "weird", but other people certainly care about it more than I do.

I've been facing the door of the factory for a couple of minutes, waiting for Zapp to come out with me. We've ended early for the reapings, and despite being only fourteen, Zapp seems to be set on earning every penny he can possibly earn. I'm a little young to be working in a factory myself, but we both have our reasons. Finally, the scraping tired feet belonging to my friend alerts me to his arrival.

"Zapp!" I cheer in greeting, jumping on him and giving him a hug. "We've got an hour to kill!"

Zapp buckles slightly under me, despite expecting the added weight of me jumping on him. He gives me a groan and an annoyed glare, but the glare has no weight. I know under that mildly annoyed exterior that he cares about me. That's why he's my friend. My only friend. See, everyone else in the District thinks I'm a little bit crazy, or a little too wild. I think it's complete rubbish; I like to smile and have fun! I like to be a little bit eccentric and express who I am, even if it is a little on the hyper side. Unfortunately, everyone else doesn't see me like that. They think I'm insane, a lunatic who should be holed up somewhere, never to be in contact with society ever again.

That's why when a girl barges past me as she does every day, I do nothing but send a glare at her retreating back.

"Out of the way, freak!" she hisses. "Lost your medication again?"

I roll my eyes and ignore her. I'm so used to getting comments like these from people my own age that I've just gotten used to it.

Returning to my sunny persona, I grab Zapp's hand, pulling me along with me.

"C'mon!" I shout, trying to hurry forward. "We need to get going! We don't have long to get ready."

"Izzy..." Zapp sighs. "Just chill out, okay? We all have to get there at some point, I'm sure they won't punish us if we're a little bit late."

I turn back to him.

"We should be there on time," I tell him, my tone less happy-go-lucky, and more serious. "You know Peacekeepers; they'll give any reason to give us hell for being late. I'll meet you when we sign in, okay?"

I might come across as the crazy, happy, over-the-top girl, but I'm not stupid. I find it funny that people can look at me in that way and think I'm some kind of airhead, but that's okay...I'll surprise them when they least expect it! I'm smart enough to know who's a liar and who's not, who plays the games and how they win them; not to mention how some people lose them as well. Not being able to tell if someone is genuine is a skill that few possess and many wish for. I'm lucky enough to smell a fake personality from a mile away. I don't know how I do it, but I guess it's just this vibe that rubs me the wrong way. It's this feeling I get when I talk to someone that feels like something blocking me. It's almost as if some people think I can be fooled by what facade they decide to hide behind.

Trust me, it's like a superpower. Except not. Or maybe it is?

Who even knows anymore?

Zapp is already gone by the time I've made it home. We live near each other, but I think today's getting to me a little bit. After all, this is the day I could be sent off to fight for my life! Crazy stuff, right? It's begun to rain now, the sky darkening before me. The clouds are dark grey, like the ash from charcoal. Down comes the rain, dampening my ginger curls. Squinting my green eyes at the sky, I lift my face to the heavens, enjoying the feeling of the rain on my skin. Thunder soon joins the fray, a warped roar from up above. Smiling, I stand there for a few minutes. I love thunder, and when rain comes, it's always a reminder that some might come with it. It's my favourite weather in a way, because I feel strangely at home in it.

Maybe that has something to with the time I got shocked by an electric pole. It was thundering then as well, although there wasn't lightning, so I can't have been shocked that way. I've long put it down to an electric malfunction in one of the factories, but even now I can remember the weather that made me this way. I've always been a little different, a little "unhinged" per say, but not in a bad way at all! I like to be happy and spread my cheer around; people either laugh at me, ignore me, or think I'm an idiot.

To hell am I an idiot.

I must be funny. Or boring. Or both.

Or maybe even none of them.

"Hey loser," someone calls. "Getting your daily drinking water?"

The spiteful voice is followed by a deep chorus of laughter. Some boys are laughing at me. I feel a sharp and sudden pain in my leg, and I look down to my foot, where a stone sits beside it. Are they throwing stones at me now? Angry, but not wanting to do something stupid, I rush inside of the house, hiding within its four walls. I'm soaking wet from standing outside in the thunderstorm, but other than the stone-throwing, I feel pretty happy. Thunderstorms call me. I know that sounds insane, but my heart leaps in happiness whenever I hear or experience them. All the chaos of the sky is strangely comforting.

"Izzy?" my Mom calls, coming in the hall to see me standing there, soaking wet. "Oh, Izzy, you've been caught in the storm dear!"

"But I love the storms!" I tell her honestly. "They make me feel happy. It's something about all of that energy located in one place...I wonder if you could harness it or something."

"Well...that's lovely dear..." Mom tells me, smiling.

 _Liar._

She's faking a smile once again, but at least she's nicer than my Dad. My parents and I are kinda rocky. Mom's focused on the rest of my siblings because she doesn't know what to do with me. Just because I'm different, it doesn't mean I'm useless. Sadly though, it's painfully obvious that she feels that way. And Dad just hates my "craziness". He thinks I'm kind of a nutcase, and he's pretty much given up hope. But at least Mom pretends she's trying. Dad makes it painfully obvious.

It's the same with everyone here in District Five. Everyone seems to hate me for no reason. All I am is a little bit odd, like a jigsaw piece that's slightly out of place. Just because I'm a little less normal, it doesn't mean that I have to be treated like an abomination. People beat me up, call me names, look at me with such disdain...I wonder what it's all for. Why are they doing this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this? Should I face what treatment they give me, they names they label me with?

 _Freak. Loser. Crazy bitch. Dumbass._

The list could go on forever. The names they've called me could become a dictionary of terms, something else that hates me just as much as the rest of the world appears to. Often, I feel lonely. I mean, I have Zapp, but he's the only person who really has my back. It often feels like everyone just doesn't really care anymore. It's almost as if I'm stuck in a room with no door, in a ditch with no ladder, or wrapped in chains with no ends. It's an infinite cycle of hate, bullets that fly towards me and hit my heart every single time. It hurts, it does, but I've gotten used to it.

Standards don't matter, not when you're me. I have to show myself to be strong, so I fight back if I can. I shake my fist, glare at others and give them back what they deserve. It's not nearly so bad as what abuse they all give me, but at least that's something.

I don't answer Mom, moving upstairs and into my room. It's a vibrant purple, which is my favourite colour. I've always liked the darkness it held, among the vibrancy of it. It's a comforting colour to me, it's almost like a galaxy in a way, and that's always been cool. I skip past my maths textbook from school, smiling at it. I've always enjoyed maths and reading things, so the combination of both has been a joy to read. I've read the book so many times that I can probably recite it, but the odd thing is that it never seems to get old. That's why the world is so diverse and interesting to me. It's constantly changing. There's always something new to see or explore.

Changing clothes is fairly standard, and I make sure to wash myself as well, the old purple sponge gliding over my freckled creamy skin. I guess I'd be confident in myself enough to say that I'm pretty, but I've probably scared all the boys away. I wouldn't know what to do with one anyway. What would I say? What would I do? What would he think of me? I wave off that notion. I doubt anything like that is happening any time soon, so why should I worry?

I dry myself, dress, and make sure I hug my Mom on the way out. She knows how I do things. Get them done and move along. I'm not too fussy, plus I can tell when I'm not wanted.

Zapp greets me, waiting at the end of the reaping line, waiting to sign in. Several others file behind me, keeping their distance with dirty looks and whispers hidden behind their hands. I roll my eyes, ignoring them and focusing on my friend.

"You feeling good?" I chirp, hoping to make my friend happier.

"Yeah...if it wasn't for the fact that I might be reaped..." Zapp tells me with mock annoyance.

"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it," I shrug. "You could be reaped. But you're smart! You could win."

Zapp regards me gently.

"Thanks, Izzy," he says, his voice soft and genuine. "That actually means a lot."

"That's what I'm here for!" I announce.

The queue becomes small enough for Zapp to sign in.

I soon follow him, twitching a little bit as my finger is pricked. I'm usually quite twitchy in general, since it's just who I am. I can feel a muscle in my arm twitching now, although my attention isn't really gravitated towards it. I guess the fact that I twitch sometimes makes me seem like more of a crazy looking character, but again, people's assumptions are often wrong. I guess that's fine though.

Zapp hugs me before we go our own separate ways.

"Good luck." he whispers.

"You too!" I tell him.

I walk down and move into the sixteen year old female section, the rough rope scraping against my hands as I lightly skim my palm across it. Several girls that stand next to me start whispering as soon as I come near them, giving me space and keeping their distance. I've long grown used to it now; all the snide remarks and the laughing behind my back. They know I can hear it, but I won't let them enjoy my reaction. There's no point in fighting back.

As the rain falls from the sky, I close my eyes, finding my inner peace.

Whatever happens after the reaping, I have to remain strong, to fight for what I believe in. I'll take a stand against the entire District if I have to.

It's a crazy idea, to fight against the world when it's against you.

I guess I'll do it anyway.

* * *

 **Leigha Tullson, Eighteen, District Six Female**

* * *

Trying to remain positive in this situation is hopeless.

I'm trying my best to keep it together, standing next to all the other girls my age. It's my last reaping, and the only thing I'm asking for right now is just not get reaped. There's a thousand situations going through my head, and none of them are good. Getting reaped, having to train, fighting for my life...yeah, I'd rather not thanks. I'd always have to look behind me and making sure nobody's creeping up on me. I do that enough times here in Six, and nobody's trying to kill me.

I look down at my hands, trying to stop my anxiety from controlling me. This situation always puts my nerves on edge. I'm sure everyone else is feeling the strain, but I can't help but to focus on myself right now. The stone beneath my feet grounds me a little bit, and I look back up. The mentor for District Six, Mona, is on the stage. She doesn't look like she can even contain her boredom, but I've always got a different vibe from her. She's not as uncaring as some people think, but it's a defense, just like anyone else's. She's trying to hide where her feelings can't be hurt.

The escort for District Six comes up to the front of the stage. She appears to be dressed up like a traffic light, completely oblivious to the ridiculousness of her appearance. I don't recognise her from before, so maybe the Capitol has switched around a few escorts this year. It's a brief distraction, but a welcomed one.

It keeps my negative thoughts at bay.

I'll be honest, I want to be a positive person. I've always tried to be. But I feel like there's just something that holds me back. I always feel like something bad is going to happen, or if someone is going to change something that will affect my life. I guess I'm the type of person to expect the worst, even when I don't particularly want to. Thankfully, it's only an internal struggle. My face is like a blank slate; unreadable. I do that a lot. I keep things to myself and outwardly portray someone who's calm and composed. It's easier to do, and I've built it up over the years. It doesn't attract any worry either, so I don't have to be afraid of socialising with people about problems they neither need nor have time for.

"Welcome to the 81st Hunger Games!" the woman calls from the front. "Before we reap our tributes for this year, we'll be showing you our film depicting the reason why we're here!"

She claps her hands together excitedly. She doesn't look like she's smart enough to know what "depicting" means, but again, I keep this to myself. I'm disgusted at her peppiness as well. How can someone be so happy after seeing children die once every year? I get that it's some kind of sick sport, but even now it baffles me that people can have such an interest in the Games. I'm hoping I won't get reaped to go there this year, especially when it's my last reaping, but of course, I'm likely to have bad luck.

The film begins on a screen in front of us, and I stare blankly at one corner. I've seen this film six times before, so why do I need to bother watching it through again? Finally, the film ends and spares me the torture. I'm tired of having to listen to empty victories the Capitol continue to promise us. I wouldn't be surprised if one day they just executed all of us, just to watch and laugh as we'd scramble to survive.

The oddly colourful escort waits for the film to end before walking over to the girls reaping bowl.

"Ladies first, as usual!" she giggles, the sound almost like a hiccup.

She dips her hand in, and makes a big deal of rifling her hand around the bowl, finding a slip. I really wish she wasn't doing this. It doesn't make me feel any better about the possibility of getting reaped.

 _Don't be ridiculous._ I try to convince myself. _There's so many other names in that bowl. It can't be-_

"Leigha Tullson!"

My name is like a gunshot, a sharp and sudden announcement that runs through the crowd. Almost in slow motion, all of the girls in my section move and turn to me, their eyes lingering on my face. It's tense, too tense. I feel like some kind of class act; being watched and judged by everyone who looks at me.

I have to keep it together.

There are so many thoughts and feelings running through my mind right now, and I haven't got any idea as to how I can cope with them. My own name hits me like a freight train. If I'm honest, I've never realised how much impact a name could have on me, not until now. With my own name, my world comes crashing down in front of me. Everything just...shatters. My body is rigid, almost frozen like ice. On the outside, I'm an empty husk, blinking several times to try and process the fact that it's _me_ and that _I_ was chosen, out of everyone else.

With this realisation, chaos erupts inside of me.

I focus on my feet, trying to compose myself. My vision blurs with tears, and I desperately blink them away, focusing on my shoes. My own feet move me forward, a quick yet regretful pace. I don't want to go up to the stage and face the truth, but I know that if I don't, the Peacekeepers will only do it for me. My knees are shaking, bumping together with every step I take. Already, I can tell that I look as if I'm about to collapse, and I feel that way. My mind is filled with the negative possibilities that I've always been a slave to. But back then, those were hypothetical.

Now they're real.

I keep myself composed, even though it's obvious that I've already failed to keep my cool. The escort walks slowly over to the boys reaping bowl, performing the same process before picking out another slip of paper. This person will be destined to die if I am to live.

"Geoni Proctor!"

At first, I don't see my District partner, but soon a short, geeky looking boy parts from the thirteen year old section. He stiffly walks to the stage, holding in his emotions much better than I did. A woman screams, and I realise that the sound is coming from the right of me. It's the mayor of our District, begging the escort for her son not to be taken from her.

"Please, please!" she sobs. "He doesn't deserve this! Choose someone else, please!"

Other members of the District look pitifully at both Geoni and his Mother, but they know that there's nothing they can do. Geoni runs up to his Mom, trying to hug her, only to be pulled away by a Peacekeeper, where he's shoved to the other side of the escort. It's a much more dramatic scene than my own reaping, but I'm glad for it. I don't want people to focus on my failed composure, although my brain immediately reminds me that they probably will.

 _Come on, think positively._

Telling myself to try and be positive is about as useful as pretending to be happy, but it's a start. Instead of being stuck in a pessimistic rut, I should aim to be more hopeful. Sure, my situation is bleak, and it's possible that I won't get out alive. But maybe I have a chance, even if it's barely there. A chance is still a chance, right?

"District Six, I give you Leigha Tullson, and Geoni Proctor!"

I turn to the small boy before me, who seems slightly repulsed to shake my dirty hand, but does so anyway. I stare him in the eye, not giving anything away. Just because he's young, it doesn't mean that he won't be the one to kill me. The doors to the Justice Building open up behind us, and we're led through, almost in complete silence, since the crowd behind us doesn't seem to have much faith in our survival. I agree with them. I don't have much faith either.

I'm grabbed roughly by a Peacekeeper, and half dragged away from Geoni and our escort. The halls of the Justice Building are nice; plush red carpet, posh looking pictures on the walls, complete with circular lights on the ceiling. It appears to be grand, grander than any other building I've properly explored. I'm shoved into a room, the door slamming shut behind me.

This is the part I hate.

I sit myself beside a window, looking out over the District, trying to soak it up one last time. I can see the crowd at the reapings dispersing, slowly returning to their homes to celebrate the safety of their children. I gently stroke the velvet cushion beside me, hoping to gain some kind of confidence about my situation, but it escapes me. I can tell that I'm still a little shocked and somewhat lost within myself. I wasn't prepared for this, no matter how many times my mind had made me fear the worst. Now the worst is actually happening, and I'll have to say goodbye to my family one last time. And then I'll die. I could live, but I'll have to wait and see what the competition is. My biggest worry are the careers, but I don't want to start thinking about how strong or smart they might be in comparison to myself. It's a future of uncertainty, and I feel strangely calmer than I thought I would be. I'm taken over by a sense of resignation. I have to do this now. I have no other choice.

The creak of a door saves me from my own thoughts, and Ty is pushed into the room.

For a moment, we just look at each other. It's a moment where both of us assess the situation, knowing that my options are limited. I feel my eyes begin to well up again as I rush towards him, hugging him tightly. Ty has probably been the most constant friend in my life. I've made others, but he's always been there, unmoving and unyielding. He's like the big brother I never had.

"It was me..." I tell him. "It was me, Ty. Why did it have to be me?"

"Because it was," he says simply. "But it doesn't matter now. You just have to focus on getting home, okay? Train, listen to your mentor, find allies. You know how it goes."

I nod at his words, taking them in and committing them to memory. I have to fight, and now is not the time to be a bumbling crybaby, as much as my own mind is begging me to hide away.

"I'm just worried about putting my trust in someone," I tell him. "I don't want them backstabbing me."

"You're smart, Leigha," Ty tells me firmly. "You'll know who to go to when the time comes. There's got to be some decent tributes out there, especially a couple you can trust."

He holds me tightly, and I hug him back with the same intensity, feeling his heart beating against mine. I know that he'll be hoping that I come home, no matter what it takes, no matter how messed up I might end up becoming. He squeezes my hand once more, before the Peacekeeper opens the door and ushers him out.

He's quickly replaced by my parents.

I'm an only child, and life has always been just the three of us. It's been a struggle to stay alive, to put food on the table, but we've managed somehow. We've survived long enough to stay alive. Mom and Dad are better than me. They're so calm, but I can tell that they don't suffer from their own minds, struggling to be positive. It's hard to keep composed, but they care about me and vice versa. We're strong together, a family that never gives up.

"My child..." Mom mutters, walking forward to hug me. "Stand up. I can tell that you're afraid, Leigha, but don't let others see that. Stand strong, and don't be afraid to give it all you got, okay?"

"I-I will..." I mutter in reply.

Mom's always been strong, maybe a little snappy when she's annoyed, but she takes no shit. You do something and get over it, and that's how I was brought up. My situation isn't a good one, but I know I'm going to have to cope with it somehow. That's how my Mom would see this.

"We believe in you Leigha," my Dad nods. "There's something about you that's not like the others. You've got heart. I know you have it in you to come back home."

He rests his palm against my cheek as if to remember my face before I leave. I know the both of them want me to return so badly, but can I do it? I hug them both, remembering their love and confidence in me. I know I can do this, if only I can keep the negativity out of my head and move forward. If I can believe in myself and work hard, then I can only achieve success. But of course, I know my negative thoughts are there. They're something I need to conquer, but I'm not sure how to.

And here, hugging my parents for what may be the last time, is where I hide away, lost in my own mind.

 _You can do this if you put your mind to it Leigha._

...Can I?

* * *

 **2016 was just...shit, not gonna lie. Maybe 2017 will be better.**

 **I feel like I haven't been transparent, and I've hidden some things away. But now I'm changing that because I feel like it's okay to be my usual weird self now. Life is crazy. It sucks sometimes, y'know,** **paying rent, being nagged by people, and stressing out daily over work. It's good too...writing, chilling out, taking photos, and laughing with friends. Life has its sunny days and its thunderstorms, and I don't see why I should be any different.**

 **Dreams too. Don't give up on those, as cheesy as it sounds. I'm close to achieving one of my dreams, and this time last year I never thought I would ever get this close. This time last year, I was crying to myself over what was real and what wasn't. Over who cared and who didn't. Over things I could do and things I couldn't. Only over Christmas have I tried to get out of that rut.**

 **Also yes, this is how I got the nickname "Mental". By sprouting crap like this and calling it advice XD**

* * *

 **Nonetheless, here we are. Me uploading a chapter and you reading it. Everyone's starting to upload again, so I figured I'd do the same. I'm jumping on a bandwagon and I'm not even ashamed lol**

 **So, like old times, drop me a chart. Which tributes in this chapter did you love/like/were neutral to/dislike? How do you feel about Adira? Do you think she'll prove herself worthy or not? As for Landon, what do you think of his life and his family? Do you think he'll go far? What about Izzy? Do you think she's insane or more misunderstood? How about Leigha? Do you think she'll get over her negative way of thinking? Tell me how far you think these tributes will go, and give me any feedback for what mistakes I might have made in this chapter :)**

 **New years bring new possibilities. I don't know when my next chapter will be out, but I'll wait and see what your feedback is, regarding what I said at the top. But yeah, if anyone wants me to continue this, then I will, and I will finish it, no matter how long it takes me. **

**Still, I hope you're all okay. I'm pretty sure most of you have vanished, but to those of you who are still here...say hi :D**

 ***radio crackles***

 **Over and out!  
~Mental**

 **P.S. yes the arena is still fucking amazing, and thats lowkey a reason why i dont want to leave this story as a summary oops**


	7. Fate

**Hi!**

 **So, it seems that there's still a few people out there that want me to write this story and finish it, so here we go. Thanks for being there to believe in me. I know a couple of you were worried I'd died for a second there. I took a week and a half to get this done, so not too bad? And yes, I kept my promise. A smaller authors note this time around. ;)**

 **OH YES, I ALSO CHANGED MY PENNAME, DO YOU LIKE IT? I love it so much! I'm still Mental, but I needed a change, y'know?**

 **This will be the last of our reapings before the train rides! A different format to what some of you might be used to, but don't worry, all the characters will be covered at least twice before the games. Let's go!**

 **Thanks to nevergone4ever, Alecxias, LokiThisIsMadness, li'l fat necrosis and FireflyLlama (they're back and better than ever!) for reviewing, and for everyone's support on the story! We hit 100 reviews, so thanks so much for the support so far! :D**

 **Also, thanks to the authors who sent in their characters: Shura (by FoalyWinsForever), Cleveland (by santiagoponcini20), Filla (by Littletimmy223), and Ashton (by writer12122121).**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created...which is still fucking great imo, even now.**

* * *

" _ **Fate is fond of the fearless." ~James Russell Lowell**_

* * *

 **Shura Blackburn, Sixteen, District Eight Male**

* * *

I throw a switchblade and catch it neatly.

Business seems slow today...if you could even call it business. From the shadows of this alleyway, I can see several guys my age taking down a wall, brick by brick. Call it "employment" if you will, but that's a very loose term. After all, they put up the same wall a few weeks ago. All the Capitol seems to want to do is to keep teenage boys busy instead of running around the streets.

Whoops. It's a little late for that.

I throw my switchblade again, catching it as I stand in the shadows.

Yeah, District Eight, like all Districts has its crime sector, usually where the homes are the dirtiest and people are the poorest. Stealing used to be all the rage a few years back, but drugs are the big thing now. Morphling especially. Yeah, believe it or not, Six isn't the only District that has it's drugged up people. Most of the other Districts have probably got the same thing going for them. It's a surprisingly big business.

Morphling's great.

I tried it a few times, and it's fucking great. Seriously, it is. Other drugs are always fun to take too, but I keep myself in check. If I didn't have a family to help out with, then I'd be out here doing stupid (and amazing) shit every day. Don't even try me! I do crazy things, and every time people look at me like I'm some kind of ninja.

My sharp ears pick up faint sounds of scuffling, stones scraping against the soles of worn out shoes, and dusty leather. My group of runners are here. There's a few groups around the slums that are like this; small crews of thieves that steal money, food, drugs, whatever they can get. Spotting them, I immediately sprint over to them, shouting at the top of my voice.

"Mah boys!"

There's a collective groan as the group assess me. I've been with these guys for a while now, and while they're not the fondest of me, I'm sure it's because of their mentality and spirit rather than genuine dislike. Zull, the leader, immediately steps forward, his muscular frame towering over my own, and an owner to a full head of spiky brown hair.

"Shura! Why aren't you cleaning the stuff I left you, huh?" he grumbles.

I shrug.

"I've already done it," I announce cheerily. "I washed 'em up good, just like you said Zull!"

I'm part of the group, I know I am, even if I don't hang around them much without them poking fun or pushing me around. I know some of the guys give me a few odd looks, but hey, they're just jealous of my handsomeness. It's a shame these guys aren't proper friends. They're all together as a crew more for convenience than anything else. I'd love to call them friends, but I'm pretty sure that they'll just ignore me. Either way, being like this is better than being alone, so I don't talk about it.

"Well go home then," Zull tells me. "We've got important business to do right now. I'll give you instructions later."

It sounds like an excuse for something, but I know better than that! I know when my services aren't really needed. I flash them all a thumbs up and bound away, jumping off of small objects and leaping from place to place. I'm not one for being so serious and simple. Life is to be enjoyed, right? So I'm gonna take that chance and live it on the edge.

Acting like the floor is lava is the best thing ever, especially when I can be creative with it. It might look childish, but all of this jumping around and whatnot really has its use. I'm a threat now, especially around these parts, just because I'm getting older. People are out for my life or my money, and I've gotta defend myself somehow. All this jumping around has got me out of a few situations including that one time I almost got stabbed by a guy. That and my trusty switchblade. I've cut people up and taught them a lesson, but I haven't killed anyone yet.

Home is just a few streets away, a simple shack, but one I don't seem to really care about much. It's just a house, but it's filled with great people! That's family for you. Home isn't where the heart is if there are no hearts to return to.

My signature devious smile is on my face as I burst in through the door, a commonplace look around the dark alleyways of the District I call home. I often scare some of the workers just to get a kick, mostly making light of an otherwise darker world.

"Home!" I yell.

I've always been loud. Why be quiet when you can shout about everything?

"Shura!" a shriek replies, and my little sister Wix leaps through the doorway.

I pick her up into my arms, holding her close and cuddling her, making her giggle. Wix is only nine, and guess you could say she looks and acts a lot like me. Bright red hair, so shocking that you'd blink twice if you saw it, owned by the both of us. She's skinny and pretty short, but she likes an adventure and loves to mess around, just like I do. Wix and I are pretty close. She's my little sis, who wouldn't be able to love her? She's fucking adorable.

"What did you do today?" she asks me.

"Well, I watched some idiots take down the wall they were building, bumped into a few friends, jumped everywhere and came back here."

"A slow day then?" a voice asks. "Jumping out of buildings used to be your forté!"

My Mom walks in, insanely happy as usual. With the three of us together we're a ball of insane enthusiasm, and much akin to a fireball if angry. It's an irony to be witnesses, thanks to our hair colour. I guess the anger of a Blackburn is more comical than intimidating at times. My Mom's a victim of severe mood swings. I've seen her devastatingly upset, and so furious that I had to block a few punches that came my way. For the most part, she's pretty great. It's almost too easy to forget my Dad. He's probably the odd one out in our family, always hiding away and not being social. How boring! Still, I know I'll get through to him some day.

Rumour has it that I was a mistake child, and Dad still thinks about it. Even so, I wanna make it up to him somehow, to prove to him that even as a mistake, I'm here to help the family because I'm a part of it. Our family isn't too well off and we're not exactly in the safest of places, but I'll do my best to prove myself to Dad if it means he'll be a bit happier.

"That was one time," I reply with a laugh. "Next time I'll knock down a building and see if I escape!"

It was one time. I fell out of the second-floor window once. I was lucky enough to get away with a few scrapes by landing on an old mattress. Crazy stuff, right? But it's worth the thrill. Anything's worth the thrill if you know it's not dangerous. And if it's dangerous? Even better!

"Great idea!" Mom laughs. "Come on you rascal, go upstairs and get ready for the reapings."

"Alrighty!" I yell, leaping up the stairs three at a time with Wix hot on my trail.

I burst into my room, my narrow brown eyes searching for a mirror. I sped up those stairs in less than three seconds, and with this recognition, a smile etches itself across my lips. I may be thin and wiry, but I'm speedy as well. I check myself in the mirror, messing my hair up even more than it was before, and doing the same with my clothes. People think I'm crazy...let 'em think it! It's fun to get a reaction out of people, so I make myself look like even more of a mess.

"Shura, Shura!" Wix shouts, grabbing my attention.

"Wassup, Wix?" I ask, lifting her up and spinning her around. "What! Is! Up!"

"This!" she cheers, smiling, and in her outstretched hand is a plastic pink bracelet. I quickly recognise it as one of her favourites, one of the ones she wears almost every day.

"What's this for?" I ask her.

"A present!" she chirps. "Mommy said that you might want a present if you get your name called today!"

I blink.

It's odd that Wix would be aware of the Games, but I guess she's old enough to begin to learn what they're all about. In no time, she'll soon be the one getting scared for them. It's the one thing I can't protect her from, but I'll stop her from taking out tesserae if I can help it. I guess Mom was worried about me, so she told Wix about it. I'm touched by the offer of the pink bracelet, despite its colour and perceived gender norms. I take it gently from her hands, sliding it onto my skinny wrist with difficulty. It can only just get it on, but I'm glad I can.

"Thanks, Wix..." I tell her, ruffling her hair, to which she giggles in reply.

"Just beat up the meanies, Shura!" she chants. "Beat up the meanies!"

"I will!" I chuckle.

She leaves my room and skips downstairs, probably going to get some lunch. I guess life has gotten pretty wild, but it's a wildness I enjoy and one I don't want to leave behind. Ah, what's it's worth anyway? If I'm reaped today, then I'll take it with a grain of salt. Nobody's gonna take me seriously anyway, so why bother worrying about it so much?

After all, I'm insane, not a threat.

Not in their eyes, anyway.

* * *

 **Cleveland "Cleve" Garfield, Thirteen, District Eleven Male**

* * *

There's only so much you can do to hide the bad in the world. These days, kids my age can be so naive, so numb to the reality of the world they're living in. All the know is their District, followed by their uncontrollable fear of the reapings. That's not to say that I'm not afraid of being picked to go and fight to the death. I am. It scares me more than a lot of things, but what can I do when life demands so much of me?

My nine brothers and sisters are all chattering around the house, causing trouble and wreaking havoc while Mom and Dad are out in the fields. They work hard all day just to put food on the table. I'm the eldest, being thirteen, and the rest of family is a wild clash of personalities, and of course, a group of high energy.

I guess you could say that my view of the world is more mature than most, but that's only because I grew up exposed to the harshness of this world. It's not easy keeping nine children in line, as well as keeping up a social life and an education. My parents treat me as equals, and I appreciate that a lot, but what irritates me the most is others don't follow their example.

Outside of these four walls, all I am is a thirteen-year-old boy.

Small, unsuspecting, and helpless.

That thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. I'm more than a little kid! I have a mind, and I can fight my own battles. I'm not a spare part, never to be used in a hypothetical toolbox; I'm a teen that knows his stuff. But that's adults for you. They're too old to remember what they were like when they were younger, and they've lost the knowledge of youthful intelligence. Children aren't stupid, far from it. I can almost guarantee that some of them where exactly the same as myself all that time ago.

I'm smart enough to observe the world around me. Look around, learn, and then practice. It's a simple manoeuver that seems to work out well, so I make sure to evaluate my surroundings before I do anything. I guess you could say I observe people too, which can be equally as easy when they mistake me for a little kid.

I'm sat with Skimmia, my youngest sibling. She's only two, and she's still learning to walk properly and fluidly, often grabbing on to various objects to help her when she's unbalanced. It's funny to watch her short legs move slowly across the room as she sways dangerously from side to side. Very often, she'll fall onto her butt, where I'll laugh gently along with her before helping her up.

Cedric is three, and he's hanging nearby as well. I'm reminded of his presence when he calls for me.

"Truck!" he demands, pointing to his small toy a few metres away. "Truck!"

" _Please._ " I remind him, but as the stubborn kid he is, he doesn't answer.

He's a lot more childish than Skimmia. She seems to be so willing to explore, ready to go out and see what the world has to offer. Cedric is lazier, always pointing to things he wants. When he gets a bit older, I think everyone's just going to stop helping him out and he'll have to get used to walking around on his own.

Somehow, I don't think he'll like that.

"Cleve!" Sedum calls from downstairs. "Phlox is breaking things again, and I can't make him stop."

Sedum's twelve, a year younger than I am, although I secretly hope that he turns out a lot like myself. Life wasn't sugar-coated for me by Mom and Dad, but I think they got a little softer with each kid they had. As much as I'm not the biggest fan of the cold, hard reality we live in, I would've thought that Sedum at least thought of the world in roughly the same way.

"Alright, come up here," I tell him. "I need you to watch over Skimmia and Cedric while I'm gone."

I walk swiftly from our shared bedroom, meeting my sibling on the stairs.

"It's not too bad," Sedum tells me. "But he just won't stop throwing things around, and he's already smashed another picture frame."

"Again?" I sigh. "Okay, I'll make sure I keep him under control. Mom and Dad should be back any minute now. Work ends early today."

Sedum's jaw tightens, a frightened look in his eyes as he remembers the reapings. Work ending early is only a reminder of that. I squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. It's his first reaping. He must be terrified.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat this for you," I tell him. "You might get reaped. I might get reaped. But there's a good chance that both of us will be safe, especially you, since you've only got one slip in there. You'll be okay."

Sedum nods quietly, thinking for a short moment, before passing me and heading to our room. I hurry down the stairs, making my entrance known. As usual, I'm welcomed by a lot of noise, my siblings messing around and playing together. I find the source of Sedum's problem, with Phlox causing trouble, as usual, throwing objects around the room.

"Phlox!" I bark.

My brother jumps and stops what he's doing.

"What did I say about throwing things around and causing trouble?"

Phlox looks guilty, hiding something behind his back.

"What are you hiding?" I demand. "Show me. Otherwise, Mom and Dad will know about it when they get home."

Eyes darting from me to the floor, he silently takes the smashed photo frame from behind his back and shows it to me. It's not actually that badly broken. The frame is in tact, but the glass is cracked in several places. I'm sure Mom and Dad won't mind too much, but it doesn't mean that Phlox can trash the place.

"Bottom step, now," I tell him, sternly.

Sulking, Phlox leaves the frame on the table and walks over to the bottom step, sitting down and looking very much like he wants to cry. The rest of my siblings don't seem to be causing any trouble, just a lot of noise, which is the usual.

"Hey," I tell Phlox. "You're great, okay? Just...try not to get too wild. Mom and Dad will tell you off worse than I will."

Phlox nods quietly, and he hugs me around the neck, although still looking somewhat upset.

"Now, sit here and think about what you've done." I tell him.

"Sorry, Cleve..." Phlox whines, but his apology is interrupted by Mom and Dad's return.

Immediately, all of my sibling's rush around them to greet them, including Phlox, who squeezes past me as well. Dad picks each child up and hugs them tightly. He's a quiet man, but he loves us more than words can say. You can tell that he doesn't care about anyone else other than his wife and family. His face is tired and worn, but his eyes are alive with a twinkle that never seems to die.

"Alright, you lot!" Mom shouts. "What do you want for dinner?"

The children giggle, hugging her legs and trying to get her attention. Mom's pretty loud, but we love her for it. She's definitely the Queen of the household, and she knows what she wants. I guess she pretty much runs the family. My eyes move to her swollen stomach. Mom loves children, and she's already on her tenth. Maybe she's had a few too many, but that's her decision to make.

"Hey, Mom," I call. "Can I go out for a bit?"

"Sure, Cleve," she tells me, her voice loud but her tone warm. "Thanks for taking care of the kids again."

I nod my thanks, making my way through the small crowd of children to the door, swinging it open and leaving the house. As soon as the front door closes behind me, the noise from the house is muffled, almost like a dying roar. Finally, peace of mind. I love my siblings, but it's nice to have some time where it's quieter. I guess coming home never gets old for Mom and Dad, since they're out in the fields all day, working quietly. But for me, I'm surrounded by noise, so when things are quiet, I like to savour it for as long as I can.

As always, I can see my friends playing and talking together at the end of my street. Ridge, Zinnia, Corcus and Florencia. They're all pretty great, and we've been friends for a while, each of them with their own mannerisms and quirks. I approach them, waving to them as I do.

"Hey Cleve!" they chorus as I walk over.

"Hey!" I smile. "What's happening?"

"I was just explaining to my dumbass brother why photosynthesis is important for plants," Zinnia explains, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"I know what it does and why it's important," Ridge replies, rolling his eyes. "I don't need your fancy descriptions. You just want to look smart."

Zinnia swats at him, but Ridge dodges, laughing. They're siblings, but very much like chalk and cheese, being different in every way. Florencia laughs along with Ridge, holding his hand. Sickening jealousy wells up in my stomach, a typical reaction that I struggle with on a day to day basis. I've liked Florencia for quite a while. It's an oddly intense feeling, but I haven't said anything about it because she's with Ridge. She's always so kind to me, and we get along so well, but I haven't had the courage to talk to her about how I feel. I often wonder if I ever will. I get nervous when I'm around her, the butterflies in my stomach causing me more trouble than it's worth. But I'm happy for her, so I don't want to intrude on that by talking to her about my feelings.

Corcus nudges me, bringing my attention to him. We're best friends, and he's always willing to cheer me up whenever I seem sad. He's always been there to keep things light, and to make my problems seem as if they have no weight. He's a prankster, but today he seems to be laying off of people...that is until I see a stone and a slingshot in his hand.

"Hey," he tells me. "Watch this!"

I'm not quite sure where he's aiming as he lifts the slingshot, made out of blackened rags. He swings it, sending the stone flying forwards. There's a grumpy woman at the end of our street, with a prized bell over the door of her house. People have tried to steal it countless times, but so far, they've been unlucky. The woman is an unpleasant one, always shouting at us to shut up and move along, but the mystery of why the bell is so important to her is something we don't know. So I guess it's some kind of payback when the stone connects with the bell, making a loud clanging sound.

Confused, the woman opens her door and looks out, only to see that nobody's there.

Sniggering, Corcus and I turn away, pretending to mind our own business. A smile on my face, I'm happy that I have my best friend here to try and cheer me up, even when my thoughts are occupied.

It's a bad world, the one we live in, but at least there are some happy memories to keep me smiling. I wish I could say something about how ridiculous it all is, the way our lives are, and how harsh the Capitol is on us all. But as much as I wish to speak out, I can't.

I must keep my mouth shut.

My inner voice, however, will continue to shout.

* * *

 **Filla Amirylis, Fourteen, District Twelve Female**

* * *

Keep your head up.

That's something you have to do in a world like this. Don't give up on what you're doing. Even when the going gets tough, you can always get back up and start again. We have to keep on moving and keep on living our lives the best we can.

It's a shame that other people don't see the world in this way. They cry, mope or tire under the Capitol's regime, but some of us have to be the ones who can see the light, the good in everything. Even when everyone else is so negative, I choose to be more positive. There's a lighter side and a darker side to everything you see, and often it depends on your perspective. There's more than one side to every story, and sometimes you just have to look at things in a different way to understand that it's not all bad.

"Come on, Filla!"

Tyene calls me from the other side of the marketplace in District Twelve, the ashy stones beneath her feet a sign of the ever-present smell of coal dust. The market is bright and colourful, but like any other day, the air is heavy with the ever-present feeling of hopelessness and depression. Unlike most, I don't feel its touch against my skin.

I'm almost impervious to sadness.

"I'm coming!" I cry, awkwardly hurrying after her, my long brown hair flying behind me, getting more and more entangled by the wind.

We've been hanging out all day, just relaxing while we wait for the reapings to start. I meet Tyene on the other side of the market, her ginger hair a bright contrast against the cloudy day. Her bright blue eyes are glittering with a sense of danger and enthusiasm. Uh-oh. Whenever Tyene gives me that look, it usually means she's up to something. She pulls me into an alley, before revealing two apples, the shows of the alley not hiding the smile on her face and the glint in her eyes.

"Tyene!" I gasp. "That's stealing!"

"You have to steal if you want to live," Tyene shrugged, throwing one to me and biting into the other. "C'mon, it's a risk. Like a fun game! I love doing stuff like this because there's the thrill of getting caught."

"There's also a'pain of twenty lashes too," I tell her politely. "I'm not really up for that. Why bother stealing for a thrill, when you can just think positively and be happier?"

"Because I'm not as happy as you, Filla," Tyene tells me simply.

She bites into her apple again, the red skin giving away to the delicious white fruit beneath. I bite into my own apple. They're surprisingly good, a sweet and succulent taste. She must have stolen the best apples in town, which only makes me more concerned about how she got them, and what price she could have paid if she was caught.

"I just like to challenge myself," Tyene continues. "Plus, a little bit of stealing never hurt anyone."

"I always think of new things to do," I agree, waving my apple around in front of me. "Sometimes it's mo'fun to try something new rather than just steal all the time. A new challenge is good for the soul. Like collecting things, that's a challenge."

I mean it. I've always been a fan of collecting things, like mushrooms and bottle caps. I collected cats once, feeding them all the best I could. Shame my little cat shelter got shut down after noise complaints. The Peacekeepers found them and shot them all dead. There's plenty of cats around here as it is, but it still made me sad. But I wasn't too upset.

I have a solution for sadness.

I visualise my sadness, figure out what's making me sad by saying it out loud, and then let it go. Simple!

Sadness is almost like my speech. I sometimes combine my words or interject new ones in there whenever I'm nervous. But I don't feel bad about them because it doesn't matter when I'm not thinking about it. And if I am thinking about it? I move past it and let it go. I don't let the little things affect me because they don't matter. All the matters is the big picture, and the things that don't turn out well aren't something to worry about or cry over.

Tyene checks the time and sighs.

"I should head off," she tells me. "I want to brush up before the reapings, and there's not much time left."

She's right. Even the market looks to be packing up right now, making way for the crowd of children who will soon be making their way to the town square. I wave goodbye to Tyene and make my way out of the alley, my own green eyes looking around for my parents. I'd spotted them both shopping at the market, and I thought it would be a perfect way to say goodbye before I have to go. They'll be at the reapings too, but they have more time than I do before the Peacekeepers ask them to get moving.

I hurry over to my Mom and Dad, my lanky figure leaving me to tower over her. Mom and Dad have always supported me and my weird mannerisms, and they've always told me that it's okay to be different if I want to be. It's reassuring to know that your parents love and accept you, because I know it's not always the same for others.

"Hey, Mom and Dad!" I cheer. "Did'joo buy much?"

Mom shows me her empty basket, slung over one arm.

"Not today, Filla," she sighs. "I don't feel like there was anything here that we actually need."

I shrug at that. The market doesn't always have what people are looking for.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" Dad asks me warmly, although he seems worried, as all parents are when it comes to the reapings.

"Yep!" I confirm, jumping forward and giving the two an awkward hug. "I love you, and I'll be back for tea. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine as always."

"Take care, sweetie," my Mom says lovingly, and Dad kisses the top of my head in agreement. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

I give them a wave as they head back home, before heading in the opposite direction. What I'm wearing always seems decent enough for the reapings, and so there's not really a need for me to bother changing.

The town square is mostly empty, but it's beginning to fill up, so I quickly file in. Within minutes, I end up at the front of the line, wincing as the needle pricks my skin, a sharp but short moment of pain before it's all over for another year. The square is windy, blowing around black coal dust, making the area look so sinister that it's ironic. Nonetheless, I make my way slowly to the fourteen-year-old section, eventually standing in the middle of the mostly deserted box.

Here is where I often drift off into my own thoughts, thinking about what new challenges I should give myself this week. Every new week I try to break the stereotypes that society gives us. It's no fun to stick into a mould that people expect you to fit in. If it means that I can be happy, then I'll be different every day of the week, no matter who gets upset about it.

As the escort steps onto the stage and begins her long speech, I tune out, oddly wondering if this week's challenge would be for me to win The Hunger Games. It would be bleak, but there's nothing much I can do about it, really. I have to go through life living in a bubble of happiness, so nothing can hurt me. I refuse to let the Capitol take away my happiness if I can help it. I must find a smile in a pool of tears.

I won't change for anyone else.

All I want is to be happy.

* * *

 **Ashton Metz, Sixteen, District Seven Male**

* * *

My fate rests on a glass bowl and a slip of paper.

I'm not ready for this. I never was, and I've never wanted to be. My family haven't ever done anything wrong, and yet here I stand, waiting to see if my name is going to be called.

It's not fair.

It isn't! Why can't we just try to live our lives in peace instead of one of our own being taken away each year to fight to the death? Last years tributes ended up allying together, and even though both of them died, they weren't well known, which is a rarity. I've recognised some of the kids that have been picked in past years, and all I could do was feel sorry for them.

I wish I could help them all somehow, but they're dead and gone, and there's not much I can do about it. I just try to live life one day at a time, getting things done as efficiently as I can. You'd be surprised how much I've earned from people, fixing showers, unplugging sinks, looking after children...I guess I just like helping people out when something needs to get done. I'm saving up to buy my sister something special.

I guess you could say that Juniper's the most important person in my life. After my Mom and Dad divorced, I hated everyone and everything. I hated the change more than anything else, since change is so uncomfortable. I hate the lack of predictabilty you can have when things change. You can never know how things are going to end up, and the end result is so uncertain that I can only hope for the worst. Even the thought of it sends shivers down my spine. But Juniper was there for me, helping me to get through the change and how upset I was over it. I'm closer to Dad now compared to before, but Juniper's done a lot for me. We're not exactly rich, so I've been saving up to get her something nice for quite a while.

"Nova Lupin!"

The escort, much like last year, is in a bear suit. I heard she almost got fired after swearing on stage, but here she is again, back with her usual sassy demeanour, obviously trying to be hip and relatable for our generation.

It's clearly not working.

Nova, the girl who's been called, is an absolute mess. She sobs to herself, wailing loudly as she staggers up to the stage. She's wearing a navy blouse, paired with a black skirt, and her hair is put up in a ponytail, almost as if she intended to look somewhat intimidating. But now? The sobbing heap on the stage certainly doesn't look like a competitor, unless this tough looking girl is faking it. Either that or she tried to act tough and she couldn't hold it in.

My throat is dry as the escort walks over to the boy's reapings bowl, giving Nova a rather harsh side-eye, her mouth downturned in obvious disgust.

"Now for the boys!" she announces, as she plunges her hand right into the bowl.

Her grasp for a slip is very quick; she obviously doesn't waste any time building up drama or tension. She swirls her hand one or twice around the bowl and grabs a slip from the very middle, opening it rather quickly. From the sixteen-year-old section, I can barely see what's written on the piece of paper, but I squint anyway, hoping to guess at the name as my heart thunders in my chest.

I don't need to.

The escort tells me.

"Ashton Metz!"

My name? My fucking name? Is this some kind of joke? No, no, I can't let this happen. I don't deserve to be thrown in a game like this! I've done nothing wrong. Anger isn't something that usually gets the better of me, but it rises to the surface, a curtain of red across my eyes, blinding me from any reliable course of action.

"Fuck you!" I shout from the crowd, pointing at the escort in anger. "Get to shit you plastic bitch! I'm not playing your fucking game. I'm out!"

Angrily, I dart out from under the ropes of my section, and start running, heading towards the exit of the square. Within seconds, Peacekeepers block my escape, pushing me back roughly and surrounding me, all of them clad from head to toe in white armour and bulletproof vests. I try to break through them, but they push me back, their bodies like a wall that I can't break through, no matter how hard I try. Their hands clamp down onto my arms and drag me to the stage. I try and fight against their grip, writhing like a snake in battle, but since four of them have me in their grasp, I'm hopelessly trapped.

Panting slightly, I'm pushed onto the stage. I see the escort give me a look, and I return her glare, infuriated that I've been chosen. All I've ever wanted to do was help people in my District, to be a decent person and to work hard like my Father taught me. This is what I get in return? This is what I'm given for working hard and doing good? It's unacceptable.

"District Seven, I give you Nova Lupin and Ashton Metz!"

I have no other choice but to turn to Nova, my District partner, and shake her hand. She's still sobbing, but I shake her hand roughly. She recoils from my touch, apparently repulsed that I even shook her hand. I put this down to her current state of mind, hoping that maybe after she's calmed down, I can try and make friends with her. I'll need allies if I want to live, and that's a given. I'm swiftly ushered into the Justice Building in the middle of the square. Extra Peacekeepers flank my sides as they force me to move quickly to my room, obviously not wanting me to try and run again.

A minute and a door slam later, I'm left on my own with my infuriated thoughts. There's this tiredness that comes with anger, especially when it's leaving you, but instead, I'm left with a sense of desperation that I can't get over. The tears start falling before I can do anything about it, and I punch the wall, once, twice, three times...anything to get me out of this hell I'm in. Why did it have to be me? Why did I have to be chosen to do this? Why couldn't it be someone else?

I wipe away my tears, cradling my hand as it throbs with pain. That probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but right now, being particularly smart is the last thing I want to think about. I hate my emotions, especially since they're all over the place. I know it's bad to keep them bottled up, but that's what I do. I'll keep them inside of me before they erupt into painful words or punching fists, because I feel like it's just easier to deal with that way. nobody else has to worry about me if I'm like this. I don't like to be seen as emotional, so I don't bother focusing on myself. Instead, I'll focus on other people's problems so that I can ignore my own. That way, I can try to remain calm, collected, and most importantly, happy. Helping people with simple jobs while Juniper and Dad are working is really rewarding. Helping others genuinely makes me happy, but in a game where that could be life or death, it means that I'm going to have to act carefully.

I'm not sure how I'm going to make allies, especially when it's so hard to meet people without me getting nervous. I get people-shy sometimes, and that's a bad thing if you're looking to make allies or friends. I like to laugh and joke around, but meeting people in the first place is a difficult thing to do, especially when you don't know what they're like and how they might see you. I guess I'm just going to have to try and push through that initial awkwardness...but it'll be a tough job.

The door to my room opens, and I sniffle in reply. Juniper and Dad enter the room, both of them immediately coming over to me and giving me a hug. We don't have long together, and it's clear that they don't want to waste any time they have.

"You can do this son," Dad tells me, sounding determined. "Just work hard, be good, and you'll get through this."

I nod at Dad's advice, his words reminding me of the times he's countlessly told me these words before. I was raised to work hard and to do good. If I work hard on my weaknesses, then I can use them to do what I want. Doing good in the Hunger Games is a harder concept to grasp, especially when you're the one who's trying to survive, but I'll see what I can do. If I make any allies, then I'll do my best to help them if I can. But it's a balance, a balance that I'll have to keep an eye on in order to survive.

Juniper runs her hands gently through my light brown hair, trying to comfort me since she can see I'm distressed.

"Don't be scared," she tells me. "There's no need to worry about the past. You have to deal with what you have now, and we both know you can win."

"I'm not sure about this June..." I mutter, calling her by the nickname I gave her as a young child. "I don't feel like I can do this and win."

"You can't do this on your own," she admits. "And as much as you might hate it, you're going to need allies. Just work hard in training and see what friends you might make. You never know how things will turn out, Ashton. Just stay strong and...please, just come back to us alive."

It's a change. It's a horrible change in my life that could either end it or scar me forever. It's the change that alters everything in my life. I could win, survive, become rich and help even more people than before, at the cost of nightmares and PTSD, hysteria and hallucinations, not to mention the other wild stories I've heard about what happens to people who end up surviving. I'm not comfortable with that idea, but I'm going to have to be, especially if I want things to get better. The look in Juniper's eyes is enough to confirm that. I close my own green eyes and try to focus on what's in front of me. I have to try, even if I'm not sure if I can do this. If I do my best, then I can do no wrong. But even so, a thought resounds in my head, a sentence that plagues me in the wake of the ripples shock has given me.

 _I deserve better than to die in a cruel game of death._

It's a change I never saw coming.

* * *

 **And there we have it! The reapings are done. All aboard the trains, we're off to the Capitol. Please tell me what you thought of my writing! I'm getting back into the swing of things, so I hope this chapter was good! :D**

 **So, drop me a chart! Which tributes did you love/like/were neutral to/dislike? What do you think about Shura and his wild self? He's certainly wild! And Cleve and his maturity...what do you think of his life? Filla seems pretty chipper. How do you feel about the way she sees the world? Do you think Ashton can balance his emotions with his hard-working nature to go far in the Games?**

 **I'm telling you, a cup of tea and a thunderstorm does wonders for deep thought and creative writing. I haven't had a moment like that for a while, but I've been in that mood recently, which helps me write. Choppy word counts in this chapter, but I tried to keep them all *mostly* the same length.**

 **I have medieval literature for a module this semester...I thought it would suck, but it's not too bad. Plus, medieval art memes are the best, especially if you can tag yourself in class XD**

 **Over and out!**

 **~Mental**


	8. Over It

**Is anyone actually reading this? I doubt it? But someone out there, if you're seeing this, I figured that since I'm basically not on FanFiction anymore, so I'll provide the wayward readers of Picking Up The Pieces with a tribute list.**

 **Yes, I know it's the shittiest, lamest thing that an SYOT author can do, but let me tell you:**

 **1) I don't really care.**

 **2) I'm done with SYOT's and its community, I was done a long time ago.**

 **3) At least I'm giving you a placing?**

 **I don't really have a reason why I'm leaving. If I did I would have said more. But genuinely, I'm not interested in writing this story anymore, and I want to look into my own fiction, like poetry or the books I'm writing. I feel like going with what my hearts wants is right. I've had a rough and rocky road to be honest, but I'm so ready to move on that I don't even have the effort to explain it all.**

 **So to those still writing (and I may write non SYOT's in the future, so look out! :D), good on you, and have fun. Don't ever stray from yourself or let other people control you because damn, this life is free, and it's not very long, let me tell you.**

 **I want to thank anyone who ever supported me. It's been great :3**

 **Over and out to the SYOT people! This will probably be the last time you see me.**

 **Much love 3**

 **~Mental**

* * *

 **Tribute List:**

 **24th - Adira Linett, D1 Female.**

 **23rd - Geoni Proctor, D6 Male.**

 **22nd - Dathan Corvair, D10 Male.**

 **21st - Parker Lidell, D3 Male.**

 **20th - Naydene Carmello, D3 Female.**

 **19th - Cassia Foster, D8 Female.**

 **18th - Morgana Murray, D11 Female.**

 **17th - Shura Blackburn, D8 Male.**

 **16th - Nova Lupin, D7 Female.**

 **15th - Cleveland "Cleve" Garfield, D11 Male.**

 **14th - Landon Caruso, D2 Male.**

 **13th - Orion Trent, D4 Male.**

 **12th - Vanity Genot, D2 Female.**

 **11th - Filla Amirylis, D12 Female.**

 **10th - Shion Qing, D5 Male.**

 **9th - Aisha Cain, D4 Female.**

 **8th - Lewis Coltsfoot, D12 Male.**

 **7th - Barric Roland, D9 Male.**

 **6th - Leigha Tullson, D6 Female.**

 **5th - Lenore Van Duren, D10 Female.**

 **4th - Aline Liu, D9 Female.**

 **3rd - Ashton Metz, D7 Male.**

 **2nd - Austin Ogara, D1 Male.**

 **1st - Isabella "Izzy" Moire, D5 Female.**

* * *

 **Congrats to BamItsTyler for the victor! I was juggling the top 8 for the longest time, but this is what I came up with. I felt it was pretty appropriate in my mind.**

 **This story was going to be a great one, you know, but I just don't have the time nor the stamina to write SYOT's. I might as well finish my stuff, right? Give you all closure one way or another. I'm sorry for not saying who killed who. I hadn't planned that part out.**

 **I hope you enjoyed. See you around :)**


End file.
